Operation Two-Fold
by Firetoast312
Summary: Struggling with the loss of nearly everyone he served alongside, I.M.C. Pilot Alan Stassov, does his best to keep moving forward, but with newly developed technologies entering the battlefield on both sides, he must do more than fight the Militia threat. Now, he must fight just to keep himself from being left behind by the rest of the Frontier.
1. Chapter 01: Old Wounds & Fresh Blood

"Old Wounds Fresh Blood"

Alan was starting to get bored. He'd been sitting in his pod watching the other personnel fight against technology that was the sim-pod's software and without much else to do he went so far as to almost take a nap while on assignment. Aside from the software needing to be updated, the entirety of the other team was late to the skirmish which made Alan being there all the more pointless.

After the Battle of Medusine, he and the other survivors had been dropped off at the nearest I.M.C. facility to undergo proper medical treatment. So far, Alan had little to do thanks to the ARES division being more organized for research than combat. It was only now, a month after he fully recovered, that he was able to do anything of note and that was essentially to run simulations over and over. It was certainly better than getting shot at for real, but eventually it got tiresome.

Taking a look around, Alan could see the dozens of screens showing only various loading bars and only two being used to work on the simulation he was about to be put in. In the center of the room was a ring of servers and on the largest screen hanging on the wall across from him was a scoreboard reading 'Null'. He sighed as he kept waiting, but now that he thought about it, he couldn't find his field commander anywhere. Normally, it would just be a junior officer training their own leadership skills by commanding squads of simulated infantry and other forcers, but they were also supposed to be one of the first ones on deck.

As if on cue, the doors to the room kicked open with a woman in a clean uniform. Although she kept her composure, Alan could tell that she had been in quite a rush. He quickly averted his eyes, not caring about her too much until someone's shout got his attention.

"Commander on deck!" They yelled. Alan instinctively climbed out of his pod and stood at attention. It wasn't common for an experienced officer to be assigned, but in trying to get a closer examination, their eyes met.

"Oh no." Alan muttered, looking away when he saw a sly smile pointed his way.

"At ease everyone. Pilot- Or should I say, Alan, what a pleasure to see you here of all place." She walked on over to him with her chin held high and arms behind her back, "You look nice, sleep well?"

"Don't push it." He said through his teeth. She's been like this since she got her promotion after the defense on Medusine, particularly toward him. To everyone else, she was just another officer handing out orders.

"What was that?" Vanessa frowned.

"Yes, Commander, I slept very well, thank you for asking, Commander." Alan complied, giving the woman an answer, she would be satisfied with hearing.

"Good, because you have a set of challengers."

"Challengers?"

"New recruits, fresh Pilots, whom from the sounds of things when I had to greet them and their officer, need to be shown their place. I guess since they're new, upper command thought it be pointless to give you allies, so you'll be the only Pilot on our team." She said, her tone became a lot more serious when she looked him in the eye. She went on tell him about the group of four, that they were arrogant, disrespectful of the chain of command, and their team leader in particular was a bit of a narcissist. Unfortunately, they signed up with the I.M.C. as mercenaries for a larger pay and as a result, they were technically outside of the chain of command in most cases so she could do nothing to reprimand them. With every fact she gave, she took another step into Alan's personal space, forcing him to retreat and back pedal in response until he found himself sat back down in the sim-pod's chair and Vanessa leaning in with him, "You'll do what you do best. Isn't that right, Alan?" She asked with a confident smile a little too close to his face.

"Will do, Commander." He returned the smile to Vanessa who pushed herself back outside the pod and watched the doors shut.

"Pilot credentials verified, welcome Pilot Alan Stassov." The pod's OS said to him as the pod digitally scanned the user within it in a ray of green lights. In a flash that had Alan shield his eyes, he opened them back up to find himself in a relatively small, dull white, blank room with few features and a wide rack of weapons and equipment, except none of it was anything he was familiar with. In front and above him was a screen showing a five-minute timer, on his right, the weapons and equipment, and on his left, a range with varying targets.

Alan's guess that this was the new stuff being implemented into the simulation's programming. Made sense as far as he knew, though it wasn't like he was a technician nor a programmer. Regardless, he needed to use the time to get a good handle of all this new stuff but he knew right off the bat that he would not have time to try out everything. First on the list was the equipment, worst case scenario he could just pick up a weapon from a fallen enemy, but the new equipment was the most important. Two sets of shuriken looking throwables, and one shaped like a canister, there was other stuff, several kunai hanging from a rack, a grappling attachment that looked like it went on his arm, and a disc-like 'thing'. He didn't know where to begin and already a minute had passed.

He started to throw caution to the wind and test them out one at a time. After equipping the grapple, he threw the kunai. The second it impaled into the ground it let out a sonar that his helmet could pick up, outlining the various targets and M.R.V.N.s that were passing by.

Useful by itself, but when Alan saw what the new grenade read, he saw its usability shine: electric smoke. He had absolutely no idea how it worked, but that didn't matter. He pulled the pin and tossed it and just like the 'Pulse Blade' (as his helmet had displayed) it exploded in a cloud of smoke on impact with the ground. He took an extra of each after realizing the combination the two presented.

Three minutes left.

Next, 'Firestar', sounded like he had read it somewhere before, but either way he could get a pretty good guess on what did. 'Gravity Star' came up last and after throwing it he found himself somewhat amazed that I.M.C. engineers and researchers could make such a small thing have its own gravitational pull, but again, he wouldn't know the science behind it.

Two minutes left.

Starting to worry about time, Alan grabbed the first weapon his hands could lay on. 'Volt', he read. It said this was an SMG? This thing was as a little heavier and as large as a R-101! Who in all of the I.M.C. classified this as an SMG? He was wasting time just thinking about it. With a minute and a half left to spare, he turned on his heel and fired about half the clip. Decent weapon, he'll give it that, but slow in fire rate if they are actually going to call it an SMG. It's got nothing on the R-97 that's for sure.

The last weapon he could grab was the 'Mozambique'. Holding out with both hands firmly on the handle, he pulled the trigger and a shotgun spread of energy came out at a rather slower pace. It wasn't the worst weapon Alan has ever had in hand, most of them served a specific role anyways, but he doubted he would ever see one of these outside of close-range combat and even then, there was the EVA to fill that role.

Alan sighed as the timer finally gave out. In another flash, he found himself opening his eyes to a city in ruins. He was captivated by the sight, before this new 'update' the best that could be said for urban environments were small two to three story buildings at best, but here was a _legitimate city_ to explore and fight in!

The city had crumbled as if it had been the center of a war for months on end. The tallest towers were severed in half and sometimes resting on top of each other, the streets were littered with cars burned to a crisp and the streets were cracked and torn up from explosive impacts, and finally the sky was a smoggy brown and grey from the constant fires and smoke all around the city with only the only hint of blue was miles away at what might as well have been the edge of the simulation. Once the infantry and vehicles began running and rolling past him, the Pilot inspected his equipment only to find it was everything he had on him when the timer was up in the armory room. The Mozambique in his right hand, his old Hammond-2011 strapped to his leg, the grapple, and the two singular use equipment he had were at his disposal. He was annoyed, but he had to adapt with it all anyways. Phantom fighters rushed overhead, followed by Goblin dropships stopping at various locations to deploy additional forces when Alan heard a transmission go through to him: "Pilot," It was Vanessa, professional and stern, "This is an annihilation match, you kill the Pilots, I'll handle the rest. Over and out." She ordered.

Hitching a ride on top of a Paladin tank, Alan listened for the opening shots of the battle up ahead where scouting parties on both sides likely found one another and engaged. Alan knocked on the tank's hull, pointing at a building nearby but not giving any signs that there were enemies inside. The tank's controller, seemingly understanding what the Pilot was going to do, aimed the two barrels at the row of buildings as it continued to roll along its path. Alan climbed on the top of the tank, running along one of the barrel's length's and jumping for the wall. With the aid of his jump-kit, he followed the wall until he reached its end jumping off and into another crashing through a window frame didn't have any glass left in it. Once inside, he could hear the sound of a Spitfire being set up by a team of simulated Militia to ambush I.M.C. forces, but he wasn't about to let that happen. Putting the Mozambique in its own holster on his free leg, Alan turned the corner into the room and shoved one of the Militia Riflemen into a wall, stealing his… 'R-201'? He didn't have time to inspect it, instead turning it on the others and spraying two controlled bursts at the other two before finishing off the third and the fourth that was still on the wall. Now with time to inspect the weapon, Alan found that it was not much different from his traditional R-101. He couldn't give it a proper comparison aside from color and a few tweaks in the design.

Throwing down the rifle, he grabbed the Spitfire and used it against the Militia forces below him, quickly killing half a dozen of their forces before they took cover or retreated all while he could hear the running of footsteps in the hall behind him. With still half a drum to spare, he held the trigger down as he swung the machine gun to the other side of him, catching only a glance at an enemy Pilot that he was almost able to hit. Knowing that the enemy would keep in cover, Alan tossed the weapon at the doorway and jumped out of the window to climb a floor higher where he stabbed the dirty carpet that remained with his pulse blade. He saw the outline of the enemy Pilot breaching into the room he was just in but evidently, she had noticed that she was being tracked.

She was wielding a rifle or SMG as she quickly turned each corner and fire as if Alan were waiting for her, but he was only watching her scare herself. Finding a hole in the floor, Alan quietly hopped down a trailed behind the enemy Pilot. He unholstered his Mozambique and slowly raised his arm to the back of her head. Just as she turned back around to find the triple barrels before her eyes, Alan pulled the trigger and with a kick from the gun she went down.

As if a sixth sense told him, he grabbed his pulse blade and threw it behind him straight into an oncoming enemy Pilot who manage to stop it by sacrificing his left hand. Alan raised the one-handed shotgun, but the other Pilot called him out on it, "What can't fight fair? I demand a proper duel between Pilots!"

Alan sighed, normally he'd just pull the trigger, but orders were orders and he wouldn't want to imagine what going against _Vanessa's_ orders would be like; since it would be him defying orders. He threw the weapon away falling back to a defensive stance while the rookie Pilot made the mistake of attacking without warning first. With a quick raise of his fist, Alan slammed it into the Pilot's head causing him to fall to his back from the sudden punch. It wasn't over though, he knew it too circling around the fallen Pilot, Alan waited for him to get up.

He did.

The enemy Pilot used his jump-kit, to pick himself up and continue the fight spinning himself around in the air to deliver a kick that Alan was quick to dodge. He punched the other Pilot in his exposed side and kicked his leg in so that he fell to one knee. Alan took his data-knife and went for a slash, severing one of the important straps for the Pilot's jump-kit though the enemy Pilot saw it as an attack that missed.

Getting to his feet the recruit proceeded to get into a fistfight with Alan, rarely able to get passed the well-trained guard of the veteran Pilot until finally throwing himself at Alan and pushing the two of them out the window. Alan put himself above the other Pilot, kicking off him to get some distance and slow himself down. The other Pilot tried to reach for him but was surprised when his own jump-kit did not respond to his movements resulting in a bloody splat against the concrete while Alan had just enough time to use his grapple to latch onto a bridge across the street and swing himself over so that he could slide to stop his momentum.

There, he was caught in between four Militia grunts, but Alan was quickest with the draw. He pulled out his Hammond-2011 and in seconds, gunned them all down from where he was lying. "Reports of another one headed your way, be ready, Alan."

Alan used his gear to get to wall running again. Staying still would only get him killed and he needed to get back to the action. Just as he entered a four-way street littered with craters and burned out vehicles both military and civilian, new and old, the third Pilot arrived and kicked him to the ground but Alan was quick to recover.

"Of course, the others weren't enough to beat you, were they? Guess now _I _have to do it." She said, drawing a knife and lunging forward for several slashes that failed to land a hit. "You know," She grunted, "You're making this a lot harder than it needs to be!"

Alan grabbed her wrist as she was going for a downward stab and kneed her in the stomach. She clawed him with her free hand but of course it did nothing against his helmet.

She got up to punch him but in her winded state, Alan only had to redirect the punch to his side and kick her to the floor. "Starting," She wheezed, "To piss me off."

The Pilot didn't seem to want to give up, but Alan didn't have to do much other than watch her struggle to get to her feet.

"Edwin'll show you your place!" She yelled. That's right, he didn't have time for this. As the woman went for a final stab, Alan grabbed her arm and pulled the knife from her hand. He stabbed her in the leg, then dragged her over to a crater despite her protests. "Say something dammit!"

"You lot aren't worth it." He responded, throwing her down into the small pit. Alan looked down on her and though she was wearing a helmet he could see the anger burning in her eyes, that didn't matter all too much when Alan pulled the pin of his grenade and tossed it in with the other Pilot, instantly making her disappear in the cloud of smoke before hearing gurgling from being electrocuted. Seeing their pride and confidence was almost nostalgic, just about every pilot to graduate from training always saw themselves as near indestructible, at the time they didn't know it, but he along with many of the more 'realistic' minded ones knew that they were not super soldiers, just trained with different equipment and skilled in using them.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Alan continued his hunt for the last enemy Pilot. The best place for him to look would be the last skyscraper left standing tall, though it looked like it could fall over at any minute with the adjacent tower leaning against it. It was a terrible idea, until he heard the unmistakable sound of a Kraber fire from it. Now he knew where his last target was.

After clearing out a few squads of grunts trying to stop him and allow for allied forces to sweep around enemy lines, Alan began his long scale of the side of the skyscraper one floor after another as the shots from the .50-cal sniper rifle grew louder.

Eventually Alan made it to the highest floor still intact. "So, you made it, great." Said a man, likely the 'Edwin' the previous Pilot mentioned. "Not even Mary, huh?"

Alan stayed silent as Edwin showed himself.

"Oh, I see. Well I don't care about your silent treatment, but I'll show you our 'worth' old man!" Edwin exclaimed. Alan wasn't even out of his twenties and this is what his juniors thought of the other veteran Pilots? He'd say he was surprised, but he wasn't. There was always someone, down to the lowest ranks of the I.M.C. infantry corps, trying to make something of themselves, the only problem with these recruit Pilots was their pride was being backed up by the title of being a 'Certified Pilot'. He'd seen a number of Militia Pilots with that kind of mindset gunned down by a squad of grunts, so he was no stranger to this kind of behavior.

Alan blocked two of Edwin's punches, pushed aside a kick, and shoved the man back. Keeping on the defensive, Edwin took his data-knife and through it and by sheer luck and a little bit of reflex, Alan managed to catch it by the handle, taking the other Pilot by surprise and in that moment of fear Alan charged forward and tackled Edwin through a weakened wall and onto the floor with the knife being held at bay. Edwin received two punches to his side before kicking Alan off of him. "Christ, maybe you aren't half bad as the news and reports say." Edwin tried to gloat through his breaths.

Alan was perplexed, Edwin knew who he was, knew that he took care of the other three Pilots, and didn't even so much as scratch the veteran, yet _still_ he acted like he had the upper hand in the fight.

"Come on, show me more!" Edwin demanded.

Alan sighed, getting into a guard stance. The man charged after him, but Alan shoved his shoulder into the other man, throwing him off balance before punching him twice in the stomach and a knee to the visor that caused it to crack. Again, he thanked the designer for the sturdiness and effectiveness of including it into his Pilot armor. From the corner of his sight, Edwin was starting to get back up, throwing off his helmet. As expected, even his face looked like it was still in training, black hair barely starting to grow out again and clean-shaven with tanned skin and dark eyes not having seen a single battlefield in the flesh. Then again, Alan too was forced to keep himself clean-shaven however being well-kept and groomed was policy dictated by a certain woman that he both knew all his life and now kept him on a 'short and tight leash' as Zohn put it long ago. He smiled and chuckled at the memory; He started to feel a little down now, he missed everyone on the _Solaris. _Those were better times.

But they were all gone now.

"Alan, we're bringing down that tower from the east side, I suggest you get out of there ASAP." Said a woman through his helmet's radio.

Speak of the devil, it was Vanessa. He was about to give a response when a fist collided with the side of his head. That's right. There was the fight in front of him. Memories of the past can wait for just a little while longer.

Edwin manage to score several hits against Alan, but it was not long before he got back on the defensive and delivered a heavy blow against the rookie Pilot. After seeing the other man stumble back, Alan took the chance to dive out the closest window on the west side of the building just as a pair of Phantoms flew by and unleashed a hail of rockets into the side of the building, causing it to quake and start to tip.

"Don't run you coward!" Edwin said as he followed after Alan. By now the building starting to fall over, allowing for both Pilots to slide their way down it without breaking into a freefall. A shot from a Wingman rang through the air. It missed, but that made Alan rethink his next move. He was almost to the roof of another building when the second shot rang out. Again, it missed, except Alan retaliated, firing his grapple upward to bring himself closer to Edwin who was still being set forward with his speed and momentum. Using those two against him, Alan struck a falling Edwin with a kick to the chest, feeling a few cracks coming from the other man's ribs.

Before they knew it, they were on the roof of another building. Alan was the only one left standing in the dust kicked up by the fallen skyscraper. Alan wanted a clear view of the Pilot before doing anything else. At his feet, the Wingman that the rookie was using. He thought about it, but he remembered once again that he was to show them their place. He made a slow walk to the fallen Pilot who was struggling to catch his breath, pulling his grapple with his other hand to show off the cable. As Edwin tried to get up, Alan made it a point to keep him on his knees, kicking them down when Edwin tried to stand. Quickly he wrapped the grapple's cable twice around the man's neck, pulling both ends as hard as he could.

"S-Shoot me!" Edwin choked out as he scratched at his neck.

"Apologize to Commander Botosova." Alan ordered, letting the cable just loose enough for the man to breath and speak.

He didn't. So, Alan pulled tight again.

"Say it."

"I'm S-Sorry." Edwin managed to say.

"Sorry what?"

"I-I'm S-Sorry C-Commander Botosova."

"For what?" Alan asked, letting the cable go just a little.

"For how my team and I-I acted toward command!" He managed to gather more air for himself, "Happy? Now end it!"

"Good, I expect you to behave in the future." Alan said, reaching down to grab the Wingman, "You should've left only one bullet." He said as he shot Edwin once in the leg, once in the lower spine, once in his upper torso, and finally, with the last bullet, shot him in the back of the head.

It was pretty brutal, even for him, but for some reason he just couldn't find it in him to give the man mercy like he somewhat did with the other three. With a small notification of 'Victory' showing up in front of Alan's eyes, the simulation came to an end. He sat patiently, quietly, for the pod doors to open up and outside he could hear the cheers of those on his team and a warm 'welcome back' from Vanessa herself.

"You even made him apologize, how sweet." Vanessa said to Alan who held a rather blank expression, "Alan? Everything ok?" She asked as she grabbed his hand to pull him out of the pod.

"Yeah, I think… I think I just need some alone time. A few bittersweet memories…" He said to Vanessa.

"Take all the time you need, just don't forget about me else you'll be paying, understood?"

He nodded. Yeah, he understood now.

* * *

**A.N.: Here's a warm welcome back after some time away!**

**Oh yeah, this is a sequel to 'Friend and Foe' for those who are new here. You _DON'T_ really have to read it to read this one, but it provides a little back story if you're interested.**

**Can't promise when there will be another update as this is more of a 'test', but anyways...**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	2. Chapter 02: Once More

"Once More"

"Alright I wanna' know where he is!" Alan, with his helmet dangling in his left hand, heard over the small number of chuckles and muffled laughter. From the sound of the voice, the owner did not seem to get the message, but Alan simply tried to ignore it as he heard several chairs and tables being shoved aside.

The cafeteria was only a populated by a small number of other Pilots and other personnel. Regular pilots, tank crews, mechanics, infantry, and naval crew sat around either enjoying their lunch, were on break or leave, or waiting for their turn in the simulations in the case of the Pilots. Regardless of their reason, there was a large monitor similar to the one he saw while in the training room displaying the end of the match score with his name enlarged with a 'Victory' over his team- even if it was only him to begin with.

Putting the two together, Alan figured out why the defeated Pilot, Edwin 'McCoy', was headed right for him with his three friends right behind him. In the order he first saw them on the field, there was 'Katie Goodwin' trying to convince him to stop, 'Barry Terrell' tugging on his arm (which he promptly pulled out of), and 'Mary Ferguson' simply looking for a neat place to sit and watch the fireworks with a smug grin on her lips. From the look in her eye, Alan could tell the brunette, Mary, probably pushed Edwin to do something this reckless. "Did you really think you could just walk away? From _me_?" Edwin's voice chimed next to Alan as the aforementioned man stepped in front of him.

"Do I know you?" Alan asked, about to walk right past him until an arm got in his way.

"Oh, you will. You should know, I graduated from-"

"Congratulations, but I don't care." Alan interrupted. He kept his composure, something instilled in him more because of Vanessa constantly keeping him under control than actually training funnily enough, but combined with his longing to grab some alone time, even his patience was wearing a little thinner each passing second. To avoid anything more Alan continued, "Listen, I _really_ am not in the best of moods so I'm out."

"What, the feared Pilot can't handle a little confrontation?" Edwin mocked.

"What are you, a child? Take the hint: I want nothing to do with you right now."

"Think you're all above it because you killed that Pilot, 'The Reaper' was it?"

Alan clenched his teeth, narrowed his eyes, and took one good breath to keep himself at ease. All of this while the images of the infamous man's terror and bloodshed played in his mind, from the Boneyard-

"Getting a little soft now? That doesn't seem like a Pilot eh," Edwin leaned over to read a dark-red and white version of a traditional I.M.C. patch, "'Cosmonaut'. How _cheap_ was killing the Reaper?"

Too expensive.

Alan clenched a fist and backhanded the other man across the cheek, making him stumble back a little to register what just happened.

Too many died because Alan wasn't good enough. He could vividly remember the massacre at the Boneyard. The blazing sand falling into his boots and uniform's creases, the flying predators that could pull a man into the air and tear them apart, the smell of blood and burned flesh. Him being the only survivor was by sheer luck and a promise.

"Stuck a nerve, huh." Edwin said. The younger Pilot threw a punch but it was caught in the strong and tightening grip of Alan's left hand just as his helmet made a thud against the ground.

Kathrine died because he wasn't strong enough.

Alan punched Edwin around the eye, letting go of his trapped hand which made the shorter Pilot fall back. He remembered the moment so clearly. He hated every detail: The knife, Kathrine's blood, her terrified and shocked expression, all forever burned in his memory. Taunting him of his failure.

He wouldn't even want to begin imagining what it would've been like had he not been fast enough for Vanessa.

"Come on then!" Edwin getting up to his feet and immediately going for a kick. Of course, it was a bad move on Edwin's part as Alan pushed it aside, grabbed Edwin's uniform with his two hands and threw him into a table and its accompanying chairs.

Of course, they weren't done. Edwin wasn't about to let this chance at glory slip through his fingers, so he got up with one eye keeping shut from the painful sting. Before he could even make the first move, Alan had grabbed on to his collar and pulled Edwin forward, arm raised and as far back as he could bring it with a vicious look in his eye.

"You've done enough." Said Vanessa, who suddenly grabbed Alan's shoulder and placed her other hand on his chest to remind him where he was. The soothing voice and gentle touch of hers pulled the man's attention away from the fight before it got any worse and, in that instant, his body loosened up and relaxed. It took seconds for Alan to realize that there were four security guards armed with rifles and standing around the two in a semi-circle. "Let's go, you're better than this, besides," Vanessa's warm, dark-brown gaze turned sour with disdain when she looked at Edwin, "He's not worth your time."

"Hey!" Edwin shouted, raising a finger to the Commander to tell her off, but Alan saw it differently. Moving with instinct, he put himself between the two, grabbing the younger Pilot's finger with his left hand, tugging it aside, and using his other hand to pinch the pressure point in Edwin's neck. Once again, he was down on his knees in front of everyone just like in the simulation he was defeated in.

"Let's get one thing straight: You may think you're something special, but this isn't the school yard anymore, it's the Frontier. Remember that."

"Alright, we're done here, everyone back to their seats!" Vanessa barked at the crowd that surrounded the two Pilots. "And you," The woman turned to Alan after ordering the security team to push away witnesses, "We're going to have to talk later."

"Isn't much to talk about." Alan grumbled, averting his gaze elsewhere.

"I forgot to mention that I'm your new superior, so consider that 'suggestion' an order. Understood?"

"Since when was this announced?" The taller of the two asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Vanessa clenched a fist and looked as if she were on the verge of lashing out herself, "I'm going to let that remark slide only because we're close and I know that you have not been debriefed." She started, "Anyways, upper command thought you staying here and doing next to nothing was a waste, so I humbly suggested that you be assigned under my command; I needed a Pilot assigned to my new ship and you were the first available. We depart Typhon in a week's time."

"Yes Commander." Alan said in defeat. The two began walking away from the scene after Alan had picked up his helmet again all while behind them they could hear a trio of Pilots hold down their friend with the aid of security. It wasn't long before they were mostly out of earshot from anyone else.

"Ditch the formalities, Alan." Vanessa said with a wave of her hand, "Unless a higher-ranking officer is in the room I personally don't care if _you_ address me like normal."

"Right, well, what happens now?"

"'Now'?" Vanessa echoed as both of them entered an elevator together, "Now, I need to go over system checks, fuel levels, load equipment and supplies, and get prepare to depart on schedule."

"So, what's her name?" Alan asked another question while the lift kicked upward.

"The '_I.M.S. Miss Fortune'_." The woman answered.

"Well that's inspiring." Alan said sarcastically with a light scoff.

"It's not '_Misfortune_', its '_Miss Fortune'_. Play on words. Good luck for us, terrible luck for the Militia and whoever else wants to face us."

The elevator came to a stop, the doors opened up again but to a large drydock containing a vast number of crates and materials. The ceiling stretched high enough to house a full loading crate and a few exits from the underground manufactories, and the rows of berths out in broad daylight kept several different classes of ships that were each waiting for their respective crews' return or were undergoing maintenance.

"Remember, you have an order to follow." Vanessa said as she hit the highest button on the lift right before she got off.

Alan was left alone on the lift as it ascended again. He wasn't quite sure where he was going, but when the doors opened again, he found himself shield his eyes from the blinding sunlight. Once his eyes adjusted, he stepped out on the clean, white tile floor and looked out to the vast array of green and the cloudless blue sky. It was… Peaceful.

He could still hear the low rumble of cranes and the occasional ship take off and jump into orbit just below him, but it was apparent that the I.M.C. took care in making this place all but soundproof for the personal pleasure of its personnel. Without the buzz of machines and the white noise of people's chatter to overwhelm his senses he could finally get some quiet time to himself. Alan found the scene in front of him to be a little ironic. The Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation, famed, or rather: 'notorious' by the Militia, for destroying the environments of worlds to extract resources barely so much as scratched the surface of the vegetation here. Granted, maybe it was simply a strategic reason to keep it all intact however, if costs and profits were as big of a concern to the I.M.C. as the Militia-affiliated frontiersmen made it out to be then it would only make sense to assume that it would have been far cheaper to just deforest the place.

Yet here it all was, in spite of what the Militia claims to fight for.

Alan, not wanting to disturb his own peace, reluctantly found a soft enough seat to claim as his own and dug himself into it. His old, worn helmet resting on his lap, the muscles in his body relaxing as if it was the first time they could do so in months and to some extent that was true. He'd done a lot of fighting since the destruction of Demeter, and though he didn't directly participate in it due to his injuries not too long before it occurred, he had to deal with the mentally draining effects of it all. His old squad? Dead, some by his own hands. His remaining friends and companions? Also dead, he didn't even get the chance to say goodbye. He can't go back home to the core worlds, he can't settle down without the Militia trying to track and hunt him down, and he couldn't even sleep well without something waking him up for one reason or another.

The man buried his face into his hands, rubbing the stress and exhaustion from his eyes and forehead. For him, there was only one more little thing that kept him moving forward. If he had actually lost it…

He looked to the Hammond that was strapped to his leg, the same weapon that had been with him since his earliest days of training. Alan shook off the long stare, preferring to focus on taking the opportunity to shut his eyes and relax.

His luck told him otherwise.

On Alan's left, he heard the recognizable step of boots and the rhythm that accompanied it came from another Pilot. The man looked far older than him, greying hair could be seen in the roots of his short, dark hair as well as a few patches in the light layer of hair that coated his chin and above his lip. Surprisingly, for a Pilot of his age, his fair skin didn't seem to have any noticeable scars. "I thought I heard another soul wander on up here." He said, grabbing himself another seat close by to join Alan in basking in the sun. Unlike himself though, when the older man sat, Alan could almost hear the age the other man's joints as he stretched out his limbs. "I'm Dominic." He said as he stuck out an open hand, "But you can call me 'Dom' or 'Nick' for short if you'd like."

Alan shook his hand in greeting, but before he could introduce himself properly, Dominic spoke up again.

"You must be Alan, right? 'Alan Stassov'?"

"Mhmm." Came Alan's response, "Did you have some beef or something with me too?"

Dominic laughed, "No, no, I was just looking to chat. I've actually been keeping an eye on you for a while and after your recent mock battle with that one 'fresh batch', I have to say that I'm impressed."

"How so?" Alan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No modifications, augments, not even some stim to keep up. Just your equipment and weapons. Yet since the Battle of Victor, you've came out on top in just about every fight; well survived at least."

"I guess, the implants just happened to be delayed again and again and now, here I am."

"Just like the older generations such as myself."

This caught Alan's attention.

"Truth be told, there aren't many of us older Pilots left. Doesn't help that some of our most decorated Pilots defect to the Militia every day."

"So, what does this have to do with me?"

There was a small pause as the man inspected Alan, "You seem a bit stressed and I know you're also probably wanting to be left alone right now so I'll make this quick. I've been reviewing some of your fights in the simulations and while you are performing excellently, unlike the new mercenaries we keep getting," He muttered the last part, "I found that you haven't reached the full potential with your jump-kit yet. Heh, if you just kept practicing on your own, you'd probably get there by the time you're my age!"

"Uh, thanks."

"Anyways, I wanted to offer you some extra training, I'd be glad to show you want I've learned over the years."

"Thank you for the offer, but I think I might be alright for now." Alan politely declined.

"Suit yourself friend, but remember: You're a Pilot, and Pilots never quite stop learning." He said before looking at a nearby clock, "Alright, now I have to get going, my squad and I are about to be deployed so I'll leave you to it." Dominic said as he got up from his chair. Alan's curiosity got the better of him stopped the older Pilot.

"Why where you here? Was it just to meet me?" He asked.

"Nah, for you, I was just going to ask around to see if anyone knew you, but here? I find it relaxing, it always reminds me of home and the things I want to protect. The fact that it's always quiet during this time of day's a big plus too!" Dominic answered before continuing, "Well, see ya' around, who knows maybe we'll run into each other on the field. Now _that_ would be a sight to behold, definitely would be one hell of a nightmare for the Militia!" He finished as he entered one of the lifts and disappeared behind the closed doors.

While the minutes passed, the lonesome Pilot rubbed a finger of his helmet's scar, a memento from the notorious outlaw, nicknamed 'The Reaper' by both I.M.C. and Militia alike for his brutality in combat. The small scratch on its left cheek would always remind Alan of how close he was to being killed during one of their encounters. In fact, he was only saved by Sasha, another Pilot he couldn't really call a 'friend' but they knew each other nonetheless. Being one of the only other survivors of the _I.M.S. Solaris_, Alan wondered how she was doing as he hadn't seen her since he and the other survivors were rescued

His thoughts were going to continue to wander but he took another look at the helmet's scratch. He only managed to barely scrape by and be victorious, but Alan wasn't willing to rely solely on luck and the sacrifice of others.

Not this time.

The more Alan thought about it, the more he started to convince himself that maybe taking up the offer was the better choice. As he clenched his fist with assurance in himself, there was a small 'beep' of an incoming message being received by his helmet. Putting it on, Alan let out a defeated sigh when he read, 'Report to Simulation Room'. Some things just never end, do they?

* * *

**A.N.: N/A**

**To The Darkness Writhes - Why thank you for the compliment, I'm glad to see others enjoy this!**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	3. Chapter 03: Doubly Cold

"Doubly Cold"

Alan's last week on Typhon was uneventful to say the least. Aside from the last 'good meal' he had, the researchers and programmers recording and refining the simulations had practically made it their mission to squeeze every last second they had out of him in order to further update and improve the combat AI. He didn't mind too much. It kept him busy but the constant rotating back and forth so that some of the other, newer Pilots could get a chance to run training scenarios was a little tiring. By comparison, his situation on the _IMS Miss Fortune_ was arguably much worse.

Knowing that he could not pass the time sitting alone in his quarters, Alan made it a point to look for something to do for however long this jump would take. He walked through the polished halls that were illuminated with a neat row of bright lights. Equipped in his full gear, he didn't want to give away the fact that his mind on occasion drifted off to think about one thing or another. Though it was already clear throughout the I.M.C. armed forces that Pilots were not really cold and calculated killers as the rumors made them out to be, Alan in particular was simply trying to come up for a valid reason for traversing the ship. Being caught lost in thought would not look good for his appearance; Vanessa would certainly never let it go if she were to ever find out. Still, in his quest to think of something productive to do, Anya, his personal Stryder Titan, and her whereabouts came to mind. Since being recovered the most he got to see of her was the occasional checkups during her repairs, but her AI had to be shut down while the engineers and mechanics worked on her chassis leave Alan without being able to speak to her.

He decided to check up with Vanessa for information regarding the Titan. Being in command of the ship meant that the commander would have overseen any transfer of equipment from the Typhon stockpiles to the ship's cargo hold. It was a good thing the thought came to mind just in time too, because if he had missed the turn coming up, he'd be walking straight into a dead end.

The interior of the ship was lively as any other. Most, if not all, of the crew were inexperienced in actual combat save himself and maybe a handful of others such as squad leaders and such which meant spirits were high with optimism and the troops arguing and making bets on who has the better aim or was going to get the better kill count. Alan couldn't help but smile underneath his helmet, it wasn't long ago that the interior of the _IMS Solaris_ shared a similar atmosphere, but those days were over and those that survived were scattered.

Eventually, Alan made it to the bridge and low and behold: The Commander standing before the view of a deep and dark space. The bridge wasn't too big, it didn't need to be, but it was spacious enough not to make those inside uncomfortable. Computers, monitors, and crew lined the sides, screens reading off the ship's status hung down from the ceiling, and there was the light, pleasant aroma of the all too familiar hot and caffeinated beverage that hit his nose after Alan took off his helmet: Coffee.

Alan could see the satisfied face Vanessa had as she took a sip from her mug and without breaking character, she spoke first, "Why are you here, Pilot?"

Her tone sent a little shiver down Alan's spine as he subconsciously took a step back, "I, uh, was going to ask about Anya. I assume I need a Titan incase it needs to be deployed so I came to you asking-"

"You didn't just go check the Titan bay first?" Vanessa asked, turning her head to look at Alan.

"That. That is a good idea, Vanne- I mean, Commander. So, she's there then?"

"Yes, but no. We are en route to get you a new model Titan." She said with a cheeky grin.

"I don't… need one?"

"Yes, you do, Anya may be state-of-the art when it comes to functions however, she is no longer capable of combat."

"I'm fine with-"

"Alan, this warm mug is the only thing keeping you safe and me in a good mood. You know that, right?" She said coldly.

"Y-Yes, ma'am." Alan acknowledged and shut his mouth.

"Good, now as for your old Titan, it was taking up space in the repair bays on Typhon, so, much like yourself, I took it off their hands and she currently is working to help with the heavy lifting wherever possible. Right now, she's barely more than a walking Titan frame with an added feature of rechargeable shields. You should be grateful that she could be reactivated at all since almost all Titan resources have been redirected to producing the new models."

"There're new models?"

"Kind of, second generation Titans, built off the templates of the first. I'd try and tell you more but that's your field, not mine."

"Thank you, I'll go check up on her now then."

"Commander, jump drive is recharged. On your orders." A crewman informed the woman.

"Jump." She ordered as Alan was about to turn around, "Stay a while, why don't you?"

After the ship made its final jump, a near solid-white planet appeared in front of them. Orbiting it was a singular moon and a ring of asteroids on an orbit further out, from the looks of it, the belt must have been the remnants of a second moon. The planet itself looked like if could've been a frozen wasteland had it not been for the small pockets of green dotted around it and a few scanners picking up geothermal activity underground.

"Contact and set a course for Empyrea Station, I want this ship refueled and resupplied by the time my time I get back. Lieutenant," She called and pointed to a young woman looking as if she was fresh out of whatever academy she was trained, "You have command, get it done."

"Where are you going?" Alan asked as he instinctively followed beside her.

"_We_ are taking a team down to inspect the new equipment; you're coming with us because you need a Titan. We don't have too much room on the ship so try not to pick the fattest one you find alright?" She said as the two left the bridge. "One more thing, Alan, would you kindly grab a coat for each of us? It's going to be chilly."

\- ( o ) -

The Crow dropship jumped into the atmosphere. Inside, kept protected from the icy elements was Vanessa, Alan, and a squad of Spectres which made the trip a little quieter. Even without being outside, the air's temperature dropped significantly, aside from their obvious breath that was visible in the cold, Vanessa seemed to sneak a little closer to Alan for some semblance of warmth though he wouldn't dare point it out. "So why Spectres?"

"Because all I'm doing is walking around the facility to see what's been developed, bringing people would just be a waste of their time." She started before dropping to a whisper, "Besides, I don't see _you_ complaining." She finished with an amused smile. He didn't need to take off his helmet for her to see his expression, him turning away was all that she needed.

Through the windows, they could see nothing but a blue-grey fog and snow, but when the ship made contact with one of the landing pads the view was slowly replaced with yellow lights and then, the metal structures that were built underground were all that was left to see. Alan seemed a little perplexed at why he would need a coat for the indoors, but when the landing pad stopped descending and the doors opened, the reason made itself clear. It was chilly even inside the massive complex, but it wasn't unbearable. Although the place was built near numerous geothermal vents, it slowly became obvious that the heat generated from them (and by extension the geothermal generators) weren't enough to keep all of the cold at bay.

As the two and their Spectre escorts stepped off the platform, they were met by another, middle-aged woman with a lab coat underneath the coat keeping her warm. She fixed her messy, medium-length hair to make herself look at least presentable to the officer and Pilot. Apparently, she had missed some sleep, Alan wouldn't blame her either considering the climate everyone here had to live in.

"Ah, Commander Botosova," She said before giving her a handshake, "And uh…" She paused trying to think of a name before giving up, "Pilot. Welcome to this frozen hell that I call home. I'm Zoe Anders, Head Researcher here on Cillia. I won't keep you here any longer than you want to so, we're here for newly developed equipment and an inspection and a…" She checked a data pad, "Titan. Right, come with me."

They passed through a number of halls and rooms that at most only had a few space heaters to raise the temperature by a few degrees. Fortunately for the base's occupants, it was warm enough to keep the water from freezing over, that said, it could be significantly warmer but this was probably the best they could get. "What do you have for me, Anders?" Vanessa asked as the trekked along toward the central hub of the complex.

"Plenty of work has been done, Commander. Plenty of new weapons to consider, a line of second-generation Titans at the I.M.C.'s disposal, and smooth mining operations in orbit. There's also studies on the plant life in the underground geothermal pockets and improvements on thermal protection and yeah like I said, 'plenty of work'. I'll spare most of the details." She turned to Alan and looked him up and down, "Pilot, apologies for not asking your name sooner. You are?"

"Alan Stassov."

"Really? The one the Militia nicknamed '_The Hound'_?" Her mood seemed to have brighten a bit at the mention of his name.

"Yep, that's him." Vanessa chimed in, "You know him?"

"Only through his files and what the Frontier's new networks reported on him."

"I don't recall getting interviews…" Alan said to himself.

"You didn't, it was everyone else who knew you or of you that got the attention. Headlines reading about your triumph over that one Militia Pilot, I think he was a notorious pirate or something, and wiped out plenty of Militia garrisons, the survivors of which are the ones that gave most of the reports. 'Monster to some', 'example to others', whether you like it or not, you've made quite the name for yourself!"

"Alan, you've made many enemies on the Frontier. Since you killed one of the strongest Militia Pilots they had, those under them have started fighting amongst themselves in a mad grab for power, and, well logically, that means _you_ are their greatest and last test for them."

"Yeah, I'm well aware." The Pilot said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No, they will hunt you, they will find you, and they will kill you."

"Not unless I kill them first." Alan finished.

"I like this one." Zoe commented to Vanessa while pointing a thumb to Alan.

"You and me both." Vanessa casually let out as she inspected her gloves, "Now, let's get moving, I need to ship back a few crates of the new equipment. I doubt my second in command can keep order if the crew get too hectic."

"Actually, I'd like to test our Pilot here in controlling the new Titans, it takes some time to get used to coming from the first-gen ones so if I am allowed. I'll see if I can get one of the heads of 'Weapons Research' to help load a crate or two of what you need, commander."

"Very well, just bring him back soon, we're leaving immediately after our ship is refueled and restocked. We're to reinforce a world that suspects a Militia invasion force to be on its way, but I supposed the vanguard already there can hold for now." Vanessa said.

It took a few minutes but before long, another researcher came along to escort Vanessa and her squad of Spectres were still right behind her leaving Alan alone with Zoe. Zoe was surprisingly quiet as the two walked through a more populated section of the facility. They passed maintenance, where mechanics were working on fixing Spectres and M.R.V.N.s, a few repairmen passing by in the opposite direction giving a curious glance to Alan though he pretended not to see care or notice. They passed a near empty medical ward where it looked like there was little happening inside save for one patient being treated by a lone nurse. Finally, as they made a turn to head toward the Titan production lines and testing grounds, Alan noticed a third pair of feet behind him. He jolted his head behind him and he saw a woman with dark hair, tanned features, grey eyes, and a pair of glasses following them with a data pad in hand. She was quick to notice, a little _too_ quick for just a simple member of staff, and she flinched at his sight with her data pad being brought closer to herself as if startled. Alan's right hand instinctively lowered to his hip, but immediately forgot about the unsettling feeling when both the woman entered an elevator that happened to be along the same hall and when Zoe opened up a pair of doors leading to the main Titan showroom floor. "Ah, welcome Alan, to the Titan facilities!" Zoe shouted to the vast, open room with a single Titan in the center surrounded by illuminated white walls.

"What, is the I.M.C. trying to market this toward me?" Alan joked.

"Kinda, honestly, but because Cillia is such a difficult planet to work with when constructing- You know, ice and stuff- we've only got three Titans variants available. All of them are based on the Stryder-Chassis." She stated.

"Perfect, but I only see one Titan here." Alan said. In the very center of the room was a thin Titan with a cylindrical hull, what he assumed were a pair of missile pods over its shoulders and a Quad Rocket Launcher hanging on its back and four apparent cannisters also on its back.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll come to enjoy this one in particular, get inside and boot it up!" She said, meeting Alan's eyes even through his helmet with a fake smile and her own eyes looking as if they were pleading with him.

The Pilot did as was instructed, stepping closer to the Titan to open up the hatch before climbing into the seat inside. He hit a few switches overhead and in an instant the Titan's hatch sealed with the interior screen reading: 'Systems Booting'. Though it took a little while, likely from being inactive in the cold, eventually the mech started to move its legs and stand tall. Alan was towering over the professor when the screen finally connected with the optic cameras, but that was to be expected. What wasn't expected was another screen message that displayed in front of him followed with the Titan's OS, "Registering new Pilot…" The feminine voice said with a Germanic accent.

'Being listened in on. Need assistance.' Read the message with a prompt to accept it. He did so, only for another message to display, 'Read loud: 'I think I see a problem'.'

"'I think I see a problem?'" Alan repeated, curious about what this was all about. The message went away when he spoke it, but that didn't stop Zoe from continuing.

"Ah, right sorry about that. I somewhat had to rush this unit out when a Pilot unexpectedly came along and needed Titan. You see, there are a few 'bugs' in the system, I want to get rid of them and see what harm they've cause but I can't do it myself." Zoe informed.

Alan sat back in his chair as he tried to process Zoe's carefully chosen words. If she's saying what he thinks she's saying, then he needed to play along too. "Right, well why can't you try fixing it yourself?"

"Because I don't know exactly where these bugs are in the code, even if I did, I'd probably miss something important which is why I need you to help me out with this."

"That's fine, any idea how many there are?"

"To be honest, I don't know. Could be one, could be half a dozen or so. I'm afraid if I mess with one without knowing about the others, they might shut down the whole Titan in an OS crash!"

"I understand fully. I'll see what I can find." Alan said, already thinking back to the people he saw not long ago.

Zoe let out a relieved sigh, "Thank you, Alan. It'd be a big help. I'll let you stick around in that Titan if you want, get a feel for it and run minor simulations and whatnot, I better get back to your Commander and tell her how successful things are progressing."

As she left, the Titan finished registering Alan into its systems. "Greetings, Pilot: Alan Stassov, I am designated unit 'NS-B-3478'. This unit is a subvariant of the Stryder-class, nicknamed by the producers: 'Brute'. How may I assist you?"

"Run full diagnostics and make a list of every capability and flaw you have compared to a first-generation Titan."

"Affirmative." She said as she started running calculations as Alan opened the hatch, "Pilot disembarking, would you like me to accompany you?"

"No, but stand by on alert for anyone that comes near you. Keep a record of them, and unless I call, wait for transport."

"Do you not want my help, Pilot?" She asked. Alan stopped his movements and turned to face the Titan. The phrasing of that question from a Titan was… new to him. "If not, I will standby and follow instructions."

Shaking off his astonishment, Alan gave a reply, "Stand by, you might see double if you tried."

"'Double'?" The Titan echoed.

"I'll explain later, just sit by and wait." Alan ordered, receiving an 'understood' from the Titan as he walked to the doors. When he first starting to think about his first encounter after recovering, he thought it would be on the frontlines again with a battlefield full of Titans and infantry. He never would've guessed he'd be dealing with something the Militia were practically experts in: infiltration missions. These kinds of infiltrators were different, making good friends and getting along with the people they backstab, dissolving trust in the blink of an eye and sowing chaos and dissent in once orderly facilities.

They were double agents.

* * *

**A.N.: Here, after some time.**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	4. Chapter 04: Icy Pursuit

"Icy Pursuit"

Thinking. Thinking. It was all Alan could do to solve this little problem presented to him. He needed to start from scratch, but the Militia were not making it easy for him leaving him with all but a blank slate. Prior to the destruction of Demeter, Militia agents have only ever incited revolts or stole equipment, but here, on this frozen rock, there was nothing he knew of that they could gain. There were no civilian ports to smuggle away weapons or equipment, no disgruntled citizens ready to take action, in fact, the only possible reason the Pilot could think of is to just have eyes and ears on I.M.C. territory.

Frustrated and unable to make any mental progress, Alan decided to take a more direct approach and ask Professor Anders for information. He was certain that the attempt would be fruitless, but she did have clearance to Spectre assets he could use. However, there was one small detail he missed: He didn't know where he was, nor did he know where the woman in question's office was.

"'NS-B-3478', I need a schematic of the base. Every floor and room available." Alan instructed his new Titan. He had to make a note to give her a nickname later, but for now there were more important matters.

"Affirmative, Pilot." Came the response, "My diagnostics have been completed as requested, shall I go over them?"

"Later. Right now, I want a record of any 'abnormal' transmissions, understood?"

"I am unsure of what you mean, but I shall record all data I can."

"Good enough, now keep this line quiet. Just in case." Alan finished, receiving only a small 'beep' in compliance.

He waited while a small map of the facility was transmitted to his helmet, after it showed, Alan then proceeded through the cold, steel halls, avoiding anyone without giving them so much as a hint of trust.

While trudging through the depressing corridors, Alan gave the map a closer inspection. At first glance, everything seemed fine, yet the more he looked into the layout, the more the design started to stop making sense. Majority of the place was normal, yet he saw that there were the occasional hiccups of halls that led to a dead end or elevators that missed a floor or two. Might be linked to the infiltrators, Alan would have to investigate later, right now he needed eyes and ears of his own.

After a few stops and checking for directions, Alan finally found himself outside Professor Anders's office. He knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Still no response. He was about to force the door open and barge in, but a subtle knock on the top of his helmet alerted him to the office's owner.

"You know, I'm not always in." Zoe revealed herself from behind him. The woman held in hand another data-pad, "We'll talk inside." She said as she opened the door to let the both of them in. After Alan watched and heard the door shut again, the professor began again, "How can I help you in sorting out this little problem?"

"I need two teams of Spectres under my command." Alan demanded as Zoe sat down behind her desk.

"And why would you need them?"

"Shouldn't it be obvious? I can't search this whole place on my own!" Alan said with arms wide open.

"That's true." Zoe agreed, typing away at her keyboard, "By the way, though I can't be of much help, I do have this for you." The woman slid over the small data pad, "Here's a collection of every single transmission recorded since last month. It's narrowed down to times during the night and during times with the highest inbound and outbound traffic. I don't know what you'll be able to find, if anything, but I hope you can figure this out before you leave."

"No promises. Now, what am I supposed to do with this thing?" Alan asked as he waved the small data pad in the air.

"Run it by a comms officer, though I don't know who's 'safe', it's one of the few ways to get this started. If any of them ask, just say it's for optimization and testing the network or something."

The Pilot nodded to the woman, taking his leave. He wanted to ask about the strange 'dead-ends' in the facility, but he thought it best if he were to take a look himself besides, the fewer people who knew about it, the better.

Almost an hour passed and the transmissions of Alan's personal Spectres finally reported in fresh off the assembly line. By then, he was already outside the 'Communications Deck' and inside were four rows of computers all offline save one which was manned by only a single individual still working. Except 'working' was a bit of an overstatement. In actuality, the man had his feet propped up on the adjacent chair drinking a steaming beverage while occasionally typing a few commands into the console in front of him.

Alan pushed open the doors and startled the comms officer.

"P-Pilot! Near made me spill this and burn myself!" He exclaimed, now sitting upright in his chair.

"I need you to analyze this." Alan instructed, handing over the data-pad for the man to upload.

"Right, um, what exactly do you need me to do?"

"Search the data for any signs of abnormalities. Either out of place or too tiny to notice, things like that. The Professor was afraid that some 'rogue transmissions' are ruining the network's efficiency." Alan lied.

The man connected the pad to the computer, "Damn, well, where to start? This is going to take a while." The man complained, resting his head in one hand as if already bored with the work.

"I'm not asking for it to be done quickly, just done." Alan walked around to check the screen. Sure enough, there was plenty of files and data to go through. The problem now was that Alan didn't have time to sit here and comb every detail with the officer so he could do nothing more than trust the other man to be done with the task by the time he returned. He was about to leave before the officer called to him.

"Wait, Pilot, I think I might already have something." He said, getting more motivated to work after finding a few points that seemed off to him. Alan returned to the screen to check out what the man had found

"The night times seem to have some transmissions without authentications, that it?" Alan asked. On paper it'd make sense, but the officer put that thought to rest with a better explanation.

"No, those are normal. Personal communications back home and all that, well and I suppose the people here sometimes get bored since there isn't much to do either. Anyways, it's during the peak times of day, all transmissions are authenticated save a few for those on break, but that's the thing: on break." He explained, pointing out the inconsistency of the facility's network usage.

"The rogue transmissions are coming during the day then; well that somewhat narrows it down." Alan said sarcastically after checking over the sheer amount of data to pick apart.

"Not exactly. There's this one that pops up at the exact same time yesterday and the day before. Now let's compare it to the day before that." After a few keystrokes to search for a match, the same one was found. "I'm just going day by day here, but let's go again." Another match. The prior day had another match. Curiously, the man's faced looked pale and he cursed to himself, "This doesn't make any sense." He muttered.

"What doesn't make any sense?" Alan asked, eyeing him through his helmet's visor.

The officer pinched the bridge of his nose to think, "I believe that is the rouge transmission that's picked up." He said as he fell back in his chair.

"That's great news. Any idea on where to look for its source?"

"No idea, it could be anywhere really." He adjusted his uniform and put a finger to his chin, "Pilot, the source could be anywhere, storage depots, the unstable levels below, even outside in the cold wasteland. You're on your own with this."

"That's fine, thanks for the help then." Alan said. He turned around and headed out the doors, he thought he heard muttering from the officer again but ignored it.

Now which of the three places mentioned could it be? Outside would be too extreme, the weather would not be good for communication devices set up out there. The storage depots were a likely candidate, but they were frequented by a variety of researchers and security, not to mention crates were always moving around trying to get supplies shipped out to the frontline so that place is marked off. All that was left was to check the hazardous tunnels on the lowest floor, a perfect job for the Spectres at his command. Alan ordered a pair of Spectres to take the closest lift down to the lower levels and investigate, he then sent two by the Hangar, two more by the main gate, and another two to the armory. He didn't want any chance of an easy escape, plus if the Militia agents were armed, they were dangerous.

Not too long later, Alan was at the armory where he found the two Spectres he sent there, the only thing he had on him was his P2011 and he wasn't comfortable going in lightly armed against an unknown number of enemies without at least something for insurance. Regardless, when he pushed through the armored doors, there were racks of weapons both newly designed and old and tested. The equipment that he started to take an interest in was there too, mostly being packed by M.R.V.N.s for transport but otherwise sitting around not being used. Naturally, Alan helped himself with what was available.

While the Pilot was attaching a grappling device to his left forearm, he watched the optic feeds from the two Spectres he sent to the levels below. The underground tunnels were nothing like how the halls looked on the upper floors. Down there, the walls were made of solid ice, the floor only had a few steel grates haphazardly thrown around, and the ceiling looked like it could collapse at any minutes. Other than that, the equipment left behind looked run down like they were abandoned some time ago, but evidently there had been someone who moved in as there were a few ration pack wrappers littering the ground and a small stack of boxes serving as a makeshift desk shoved in a corner. On it, was an automatic transmitter of some sort with a small, blinking red light. From what he could guess, this must have been what the Militia were using to transmit information off world.

Alan instructed the Spectres to get closer and investigate, but that proved to be a mistake as when they took another step forward, there was a quick and sudden 'boom' that went so far as to rumble the floor beneath Alan's feet. In the same instant that the feeds were cut and the signal from both of the Spectres went offline, the facility immediately went to emergency power. The intercom came alive with an automated message requesting non-combat personnel to remain clear of halls if possible. Outside, Alan could head the footsteps of security teams and more Spectres rush to the fray almost a little too eager to meet combat, but considering how dull being stationed here was, it was understandable to him.

Alan quickly equipped himself with a one of the dozens of pulse blades being packed away in a case, and a pair of electric-smoke grenades. He was going to grab another weapon, but his first thought was to turn and make a sprint past a few confused staff and the guards to the Communication's Deck. The Pilot kicked open the doors and to little surprise the officer was still there, frantically typing away at the computer until he heard the commotion at the door. "P-Pilot, it's good to see you alive! What happened?"

"I sent Spectres down to the levels below, apparently the placed was rigged with an explosive." Alan explained. He kept his right hand low, close to his sidearm without making it look too obvious, he wanted to test the man because in his mind, mentioning the correct location, even if it was by sheer luck, and it planned to _kill him_ was too big a red flag to ignore. "Found a transmitter down there though, can't say I knew what it did before it blew." Alan finished.

"Seems like it, I felt it from here!" The man chuckled, "Infiltrators must be getting desperate." The officer relaxed, but his chuckle died down when he found that the Pilot before him wasn't feeling the same.

There was a momentary pause, before Alan burst the bubble of silence.

"I never mentioned anything about infiltrators." Alan stated. Now he was getting somewhere. Assuming he was correct, the comms officer could very well provide information on what the Militia's mission here was.

"Oh, well, not sure who else would rig an explosive trying to hide something." The officer admitted, scratching the back of his head to play off the suggestion.

"I'm going to have to ask you to come with me. Just for a little bit." Alan ordered as he unholstered his pistol and beckoned for the other man to follow.

With his arms in the air, he did as he was told. Seconds later, there was another rumble, followed by another, and another. As the man turned back to the computer to type away, Alan took aim, but felt a little relived when the man spoke, "It's the Titan assembly line, the newest batches are rigged to self-destruct!"

"Change of plans, you stay here or help the others if anyone else asks. I'll check it out." Alan said, turning his back to the officer.

"You're mad! There's no telling what could happen down there at this rate there's a chance the entire factory could fall apart and cause a cave in!" He warned, slamming a fist on his desk.

"Maybe so, but the one responsible is probably watching their work unfold, no?" Alan finished pushing through the doors again and following whatever direction his map took him through the now empty halls.

Two more Spectres went offline, this time by the main gate. Was he too late?

Alan's worries were interrupted when a door from the pair on his left pushed open, out stumbled a member of security clutching his stomach and smearing blood on the door as he struggled to keep himself standing. He fell into Alan's arms, the Pilot in turn lowering him to the ground as the man weakly pointed a finger down the hall he just left. Unwilling to leave just yet, Alan hastily removed his coat and the security officer's belt. Stab wound, he couldn't tell how deep, but either way he bundled his coat right on the wound before using the belt to keep pressure on it. He wasn't sure if it would even work, but it was the least he could do.

After placing the man's limp hands on the makeshift bandage and making sure he was still breathing, Alan turned to the blood covered door. When he stood, he felt the chill of the facility finally taking the chance to gnaw at his body, yet in spite of the shivers his body did as a response, Alan pressed on.

After keeping on alert with his pistol ready, Alan quietly made his way through the hall and after following a trail of blood and a few bodies, he knew he was headed in the right direction. It wasn't long before he heard the familiar typing and beeps of a computer. The noise came from a room packed corner to corner with servers and a single occupant. He kicked open the doors with weapon in hand, but the woman standing there kept typing. He inched closer, demanding a surrender but got no response. He went to tackle the woman but as soon as he touched her, her body fizzled out into a blue hologram before disappearing completely. Unfortunately for the Pilot, his momentum kept him moving forward and he slammed his head against a wall. Cursing to himself, Alan picked himself and was about to question what just happened but hearing the doors shut behind him made him realize there indeed _was_ someone else who just left the room. So, the Pilot followed his target.

He caught a small glimpse of legs disappearing around a corner and pursued. He redirected his last two Spectres to intercept. There was another corner up ahead. He couldn't keep up like this forever, so instead, Alan drew his pulse blade and threw it ahead of him, catching the woman's leg with a pulse showing that there was someone waiting behind the corner. Either way, he needed her alive and from the looks of it, she had dropped some kind of drive that skid a few meters in front of her. By the time Alan caught up to her and pinned her to the ground, he saw the comms officer from before pick up the drive and hide it away in his coat, he was also accompanied by Alan's last two Spectres.

"Found the suspect," The Pilot said to the newcomer. As Alan pulled the woman up on her feet, only for the officer to grab Alan by the collar of his uniform and throw him to the ground as he pulled the Militia woman behind the safety of the Spectres. The two were getting away, but Alan wasn't going to let two machines stand in his way.

The Spectres raised their R-101s, but Alan acted quicker. From the ground, he drew his P2011 with his right hand, firing six shots into the hacked Spectre on the left while he used his left hand to fire a grapple that impaled the right's torso. Using the Spectre's own weight to pull himself up, Alan crashed into the body of the robot, kicking it to the ground before emptying the rest of his magazine into its head. Alan saw their status read 'Offline' before disappearing from view. Alan picked up the pulse blade and reloaded his pistol, no doubt the Militia were going to try the front gate as the Spectres there were the first to be taken out- aside from the ones sent underground.

Alan continued onward, hearing three voices up ahead trying to think of a quick plan to escape. Unfortunately for them, Alan had his pulse blade ready and activated its radar on the wall he stuck close to. Checking his map, he could see that they were right in the middle of an emergency blast door. He only had one shot at getting this plan to work, so, he had to draw his pistol again. His first jump was to the wall, then with all the strength his legs could give and the assistance of his jump-kit. While in the air, he caught the attention of the three Militia, each giving a shocked expression at the mere sight of him. Together they could beat him, Alan knew this, but after shooting a control panel close to them, the emergency doors shut between them, splitting the group with the woman and another man one the other side while the comms officer Alan thought innocent stuck with him.

"I'll meet you two later, go around!" He yelled with a fist on the sealed door's glass. He turned to Alan who ended in a roll to easily get himself back to his feet, "Defiant 'till the end, huh?" The man said as he readied himself into a quick guard.

"I'm going to ask you to surrender. You and those other two won't be harmed, you have my word."

"No, I don't. I'm sick of the I.M.C.'s lies, even before Demeter, they've always been deceiving the people of the Frontier!"

"Just get on your knees, no one-" Alan started before being rushed by the man. A hand threw off Alan's shot while a fist went for his stomach. Alan managed to grab the punch, pulling the Militia operative closer to then headbutt him in the nose, breaking it thanks to his helmet. Though the man stumbled back he held in hand a grenade ring, forcing Alan to divert his attention to one of the smoke grenades on his chest. In the seconds he had, the I.M.C. Pilot grabbed it and threw it in front of him in a panic. The smoke itself provided cover for an escape, but before Alan could continue, the smoke electrified, blocking his route. Not being deterred, he threw his pulse blade through the cloud, seeing it activate and showing an outline of the dazed man making an escape.

Alan grew impatient while waiting for the lethal smoke to clear, but while he did, Dominic's words came to mind when he looked at his grapple. Logic told him that it was too risky and that there wasn't enough room for Alan to maneuver, but experience from only minutes ago told him otherwise.

'_Pilots never quite stop learning.'_

He took a deep breath and aimed his left arm forward into the blinding smoke that was just starting to fade. After shooting the hook, he felt a tug on his arm, indicating that it had latched to something, so, Alan reeled. The cable pulled him forward through what was left of the smoke and toward the wall on his right. He didn't even have time to think before his body took action. Alan's boots hit the wall and he pushed off it. The Pilot slid on the ground and reclaimed his pulse blade, only to continue running on the walls of the base. It felt like the wind was blowing against him because of the speed, but he wouldn't let the cold faze him. His map told him to take a right, so he used his grapple to swing him into the direction, propelling himself even faster than anticipated, but there was a figure catching up with one other person. They were in the middle of an exchange when Alan caught up to them and without any easy way to slow down, he chose a target.

He wasn't sure if they realized how close he was, but before they could react, Alan slammed foot first into the chest of the man whose nose he broke, sending him crashing through a window with a few cracks of bone if Alan guessed correctly. While the other two ran for it, Alan checked the now dead corpse for any sign of the drive.

Nothing. He must have handed it off.

Alan got up and jumped back through the broken window. His heart was racing, mostly due to the fear of almost being killed himself had he not used the Militia infiltrator as his own cushion. Regardless, the adrenaline kept coursing through his veins and he needed to make use of it while it was still there. The Pilot made a sprint in the direction of the escapee until he pushed into an infirmary.

When he pushed through the doors, he was greeted with a hostage situation. The room contained two destroyed Spectres, medical equipment scattered about, a man holding a woman with a scalpel to her throat, and there was Vanessa with her last two Spectre escorts. The latter three were armed, but couldn't circle around to take care of the situation themselves. Leaving Alan to be the wildcard.

"What're you doing here?" Alan asked Vanessa, joining in the standoff with his own weapon.

"Getting a checkup," She said sarcastically, "What's it matter?"

Slowly the group of six inched toward the second entrance on the opposite side of where Alan came from. The air was tense during the standoff, the Spectres would fire without a clean shot unless instructed, Vanessa herself wasn't the best shot and didn't want to risk a miss, and Alan was stuck at a bad angle. Time was ticking for the Militia agent, and clearly, he knew this too.

"And here I thought the Militia called themselves the 'good guys.'" Alan scoffed.

"Rich, coming from the _I.M.C. _of all people." The man returned, "The Frontier _will_ be free mark my words, one way or another."

The Militia man and his hostage reached the door, as soon as they did, the operative stabbed the woman's leg and bolted outside. Ducking down to avoid the hail of bullets that shattered the glass windows between them. Alan was about to rush to help, but Vanessa grabbed him, "Don't just let him get away, get moving!"

Alan nodded, leaving the nurse in the hands of Vanessa while he went after the man. He could see the panic in how the other man ran, desperate to get away. The closer the both of them got to the main gate, the colder and colder it got, so much so that it almost made Alan freeze in his tracks and turn away, but he needed to stop the other man from escaping. The woman he encountered was already gone no doubt, he killed one of the Militia, now this one was the only source of information left only if he could subdue him.

One final corner to turn and Alan was met with two broken down Spectres and a wide-open gate allowing the harsh winds blow into the base and that chilled the Pilot's bones. The view was greatly reduced by a thick blue haze of ice but there was a light in the distance. The freezing temperatures were unbearable, but so too was letting the other man escape with whatever data they stole. The closer they got to the light, the clearer its source became: A Crow dropship hovering over near a hill with the woman that escaped waiting with an extended hand. Alan drew his P2011, firing the entire clip at her with no success as the ship's shields absorbed every bullet. The adrenaline met its peak, and it looked hopeful for the other man that he may be able to escape.

In one breath, the I.M.C. Pilot's sense of time slowed. Alan dropped his gun, he did not need it right now, he raised his left arm, he had only one shot, he held still, closed an eye and 'took aim', only then did he fire his grapple just as the other man made a jump for the ship. "Iva!" He heard the man yell with the drive in his hand while the woman called out to him too.

The hook hit its mark, hooking and being lodged into the leg of the man.

Alan grabbed the cable with both hands, and yanked the cable back as hard as he could. Unfortunately, he could see the man toss the drive into the ship as he was pulled back by the cable like a fish caught on a line fishing line, and like that, the dropship had to jump away without him.

The man crashed into the snow and tumbled to a halt. He looked over to Alan, out of breath, but even so, fear got the best of him. It could be seen on his face as he continuously repeated 'no' while trying to crawl away.

It was only now that the cold started to get to Alan, he was disoriented and couldn't particularly tell where to go. All around him was nothing but white snow, and the thick storm that limited his view. His fingers were starting to go numb as he squeezed them to keep the blood flow. He was going to think about what he was going to do now, but fortunately; he didn't have to. A pair of spotlights from two Goblins shined down on him and the Militia captive, and before he fell to his knees from the sheer cold, he heard heavy steps behind him and a metallic hand scooped him up and sealed him into the heated interior of a Titan. It was a sweet relief from the frigid cold outside.

God, he was tired.

* * *

**A.N.: N/A**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	5. Chapter 05: New Front, New Secrets

"New Front, New Secrets"

Encased in a quarter-dozen blankets on top of a brand-new coat to wear, Alan shivered as he tried to keep himself warm in the cold interior of one of the more untouched areas of the near ruined facility. Casualties were minimal fortunately as the production lines- which took the brunt of the attack- were manned by M.R.V.N.s in the first place. However, that didn't stop a few unlucky souls that crossed paths with the intruders from being murdered for their grave mistake.

Meanwhile, the two women with authority stood by and went over reports and plans, almost forgetting about the fact that Alan was sitting in a corner not too far from them.

"And your new guest?" Vanessa asked the professor worriedly as she laced her own fingers between one themselves. This place certainly was in no state to securely hold a dangerous prisoner, though aside from stealing a ship there was nowhere to run to.

"We'll relay to command about the situation, they'll no doubt send someone over to take him off our hands. We don't really have the facilities to hold him; that's _before _we suffered tremendous damage."

"Do you want us to leave a team here for extra support?"

"Don't worry about it. Our captive already has a bad leg from Alan's," Zoe looked over to Alan, whom returned the look with a small sniffle from the cold before looking back to Vanessa, "Grapple hook to the leg. Combined that with a few broken bones and bruises and our 'guest' isn't going anywhere anytime soon. As for this place, worst case scenario is we simply have to scrap and salvage what we can and return to friendly territory, but I doubt the damage is too complex. If the place is to be repaired then all the staff and I get to visit a world with a surface isn't composed of 88% ice!"

Vanessa chuckled, "It'll be a lot more peaceful compared to where I'm going."

"Until this war ends that is. In any case, I'd like to commend your Pilot on a job well done! I look forward to reading about tales of your exploits, Alan."

She knows something.

"Very well, come, Alan we're leaving, and you're the last escort left for me."

"Aren't you forgetting something? I told you when you picked me up: 'I lost the data'." Alan spoke out, standing to his feet but he kept a tight grip on the blankets around him.

"Then it was a good thing your new Titan was keeping track of you, else you'd have been lost too, along with our only lead about Militia operations here." Zoe answered, looking a little displeased. "Don't worry about the data they stole, the most they could take would be production and storage logs. Communication has only been to the station in orbit so if they wanted our communications, they would have targeted that first."

"Alan, drop the subject, we have places to be." Vanessa instructed.

"I don't understand why they'd be here in the first place then. I want to know-"

"That is in _order_ Alan. You can play the guessing game later, but for now, we have a mission and if you delay us any further, then the Militia operation here will be the least of your concern. Now get moving!" Vanessa exclaimed.

Alan gulped and was quick to shut his mouth. '_On a leash_', he thought. Even for having known her all his life, it was rare to see her visibly upset.

"Forgive my _subordinate_," Vanessa apologized with a furious glare directed to the Pilot, "For speaking out of term. Usually he's obedient."

"It's no problem really. I'm sure he's just oh so dedicated to his mission!" Zoe hit the table she was sitting while in a fit of laughter. She beckoned Alan over. The Pilot walked closer, only to be pulsed close to the woman's face where their eyes met, "I will say this once and only once, and only because you are reliable: Think of this as 'counter-intelligence'." She said with a sly smile, "A select few know, and now you are included." Zoe finished as she pushed Alan away, "Leave the blankets!"

\- ( o ) -

The trip back to the I.M.S. _Miss Fortune _was a quiet one. Still, Alan and Vanessa sat side-by-side, except there was no small talk between them until-

"I haven't seen you that upset since… Well, I'm not quite sure actually." Alan tried to make small talk to little success. "Come on, I just wanted to know."

"This isn't the time, nor the place, Alan. We're running a few hours late to the rendezvous and while insignificant in terms of time, it's _hours_ that our security detachment has been unable to reinforce troops. It could mean the difference of life and death. The small detour to pick up your new Titan was planned; the Militia were not. That's not to mention that much of the supplies we were supposed to get were wiped out or redirected elsewhere."

The Goblin dropship made its approach to one of the _Miss Fortune_'s hangars and it was then when the two stood and waited for the ship to make a full landing.

"I've got plenty to do and make up for, so just wait until you're needed." Vanessa said as two Spectres joined her side to accompany her to the bridge.

Alan stepped off the dropship and from the looks of it the crew were prepping Phantom fighters, and loading ammunition and equipment into crates to be deployed on the field. The hum of machines, the chatter and laughter of crew, it all made Alan feel a little isolated now that he had nothing else to do. Putting his helmet on and taking off his coat, the Pilot sought out his Titans, both new and old, for a little optimization and catching up respectively. He hadn't seen 'Anya', his first Stryder, since she was deactivated for maintenance a month ago, and of course his new Titan still had to be trained with so that he could get used to the newest generation of Titans. So, he left to do just that.

After a few minutes of walking, throwing his coat on his room's bed, and a bit thinking about the encounter on Cillia, Alan finally made it to the Titan loading bay. In the large holding area, parts were carefully organized and pushed against the walls with lights keeping all but the most elusive shadows at bay. The floor was already covered in a little grease and char from the maintenance of other craft, but was relatively new compared to the one back from when Alan was on the _Solaris_.

In the center of the room was his very own Stryder-Class Titan. A subvariant to be precise, but the look of her charred, scratched, and battered hull plating told Alan that she was just as resilient as her predecessor's model.

"Pilot," The Titan spoke through his helmet's comm, "NS-B-3478 officially reporting for service, how may I be of assistance?"

"Can you run combat simulations?"

"Limited, but this unit is capable of doing so, Pilot. Shall I start a program for a training session?"

"Not quite," Alan answered as he approached the mech, its hatch opening for him to step inside, "How many other types of Titans-Chassis and their variants are there?"

"Minus the 'First Generation' models, the number comes to a total of '7' official, fully diagnosed, Titan variants. However, I must advise that lethality and capabilities of these individual units relies on the skill of their Pilots."

"I want to see you face them each alone."

"Affirmative." His Titan acknowledged, shutting the hatch to the outside world.

"Does 'Evi' sound fine?" Alan asked, "I'd like to refrain from repeating your serial number over and over."

"I do not understand, Pilot." 'Evi' said as the small-scale simulation booted up.

"It's your new nickname, it makes instructions in combat simpler for one thing."

"Loading simulation. Opponent: Atlas. Standard 'Tone'-Variant. Beginning engagement." Evi informed her Pilot that leaned back and watched as the simulation took place, but she didn't ignore her Pilot, "Very well, Pilot. This unit will be redesignated as 'Evi'. I must also inform you that this particular model was not designed with longevity in mind."

"Neither was my previous Stryder." Alan returned, analyzing the movements and weapons of the 'Tone' in front of him.

"Hull at 30%. Enemy hull: 70%."

The simulation had nothing fancy in particular, just a dull box with a single wall in the center to be used as cover, it served its purpose and that was enough. Evi tried her best to deliver a decent amount of damage, but with a shield wall being deployed along with a hail of missiles and cannon shells. There was no way for the small Stryder to live up to its name. In the end, the Brute fell victim to a salvo of missiles launched into the air and would have otherwise annihilated the small Evi.

"Simulation ended. Battle result: Defeat. Shall I run the next Titan?" Evi asked as the 'Defeat' prompt showed up on screen.

"No give me full controls and load a standard training map. Same Titan." Alan said. The Titan's A.I. certainly wasn't the greatest on the Frontier, but Evi made far too many costly mistakes from refusing cover to putting herself in an exposed corner. If the match had been closer, Alan would have let the defeat slide, but a difference of almost 50% was far to great for his liking.

"Beginning engagement." Evi said as a slightly altered map loaded in. The only difference on this map was the fact that there were four pillars close to each corner and a 'bunker' in the center for cover.

Alan quickly dashed to hide behind one of the pillars for cover and kept an eye on his radar. Sure enough, the medium-sized Titan showed itself, launching a sonar 'ping' that gave away Alan's position, but that also made it show exactly where it was to the Pilot.

Using his speed to his advantage, Alan dashed out from his cover and fired a quad of rockets at the Tone. As expected, the enemy Titan set up its shield wall to block the incoming attack, but that only served to buy Alan just enough time to sprint behind the bunker in the middle and circle dash around to flank the enemy Titan. Sure enough, with one charge and a punch, the Tone was pushed through its own shield and that let Alan open unload half of the remaining rockets at his disposal. While he did this, Alan locked on with his MTMS, but returned behind cover once the shield dissipated and left him exposed. He did take some damage in the process but for now, he had the advantage. Before he lost his lock on the enemy Titan, Alan looked to the sky to unleash the artillery barrage of his own missiles.

83% to 42%.

"What's the tactical option?"

"VTOL Hover." Evi informed. It was the first he's heard of such a feat, he remembered some time ago listening in on a few grunts joking about how they'd try and get a Titan to jump, and here he was about to get one to fly.

The light Titan took flight, and it made Alan feel a little uneasy. Those feelings were swiftly put away when the Tone came into view, and Alan fired the rest of his rockets straight toward it, bombarding it from the sky but took a few hits himself.

66% to 12%.

His VTOL ended and with a simulated 'thud', Alan hit the ground, leaving cracks from the impact of where he landed. After getting up, he sprinted around the corner where the Tone was waiting for him, except this time it was prepared and unleashed a salvo of rockets directly at him. Fortunately, speed was on his side once again and with his momentum and a little extra push, Alan dodged to the side, but not before grabbing a number of missiles with his Vortex Shield. In one swift twist of his hips, and in turn Evi, Alan flung the rockets right back at their owner, dooming it to an inevitable defeat, but it was still standing. It tried to punch the lighter Titan, but Alan was quick to grab its hand, then the other fist came and met a similar fate. Finally, with one great kick to its torso, Alan tore off both of the Tone's arms and tossed them aside, he took another step forward to get closer to end the fight with a metal heel slamming through the hatch of the Titan and crushing its occupant had there been one inside.

"Simulation ended. Battle result: Victory. Very good, Pilot."

"Since you're a light mech, sick to cover as much as you can, it's bad enough that you have the weakest armor out of all the chassis, but now with no shields, every point of damage you take is that much more devastating."

"Very well, Pilot."

"Good, now let's run the same simulation again." Alan instructed, stretching out his shoulders and arms.

The two ran the same simulation over and over, optimizing their strategy and plan to take out this common Tone-variant. It was impossible to get a perfect victory, but that didn't mean Alan and Evi couldn't try, and sometimes they even came close too. Eventually, their training would come to an end and Alan, still exhausted from fighting with the Militia infiltrators, thought it best to finally wash up and get some well needed rest however, his mind was still cycling through the simulations. Every mistake he started to notice, potential move he could have done, eventually, it became a whole list about what he could have done better. Nevertheless, lying in a reasonable bed with heavy eyelids, Alan's mind too succumbed to drowsiness and he then consigned himself to the beckoning call of sleep.

* * *

**A.N.: _'We now return to a semi-regular schedule'_**

**A bit on the short side sadly, but the rest wouldn't flow well. So, saving it for next time!**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	6. Chapter 06: Welcome to Bruvious IV!

"Welcome to Bruvious IV!"

Waking up to a rumbling ship, flashing lights, and alarms that pained Alan's ears wasn't what he'd call a particularly 'fine morning'- if it was even morning to begin with. Taking one glance to clock next to him told him that he'd been out for a couple of hours at least, but the time was not as important as preparing himself for the emergency deployment.

It didn't take long before Alan was stretching out the fingers of his gloves and putting his helmet on. Over the ship's intercom, orders were being shouted and engineers were being put on full alert as both the weight of countless pairs of boots and the faint sound of the _Miss Fortune_'s guns and missile batteries echoed throughout the corridors. The Pilot made sure to snatch up his old but trusty Hammond side-arm before darting out the door toward his designated Goblin that was waiting for him and which was packed with two teams of Grunts for support eager to get into the fight.

As the battle-tested dropship sealed its occupants, Alan was only then given a quick debriefing by the group's Captain, "Good to have you aboard, sir. Entered a bloody debris field and a token Militia patrol fleet jumping on us." The Pilot nodded with acknowledgement before the man continued, "Novis Station's been occupied and command wants us to relieve the survivors if any. They're currently held up in the command deck and are refusing the Militia access to the weapon defenses. Unfortunately, the primary power to the guns have been cut."

"And if there aren't survivors?"

"Then we deny the Militia control over those guns, if they get them online and pointed at us, then this we'll be joining this graveyard."

"Sir, what're we up against?" Asked a younger soldier, likely the newest of the bunch.

"Unknown. Comms went down so for all we know the place is crawling with Pilots and Spectres, which is why we're bringing one of our own!" He turned to answer, showing off Alan proudly.

The trails of shells and missiles whizzed past the ship and its sister dropship riding beside it. The Phantoms' pilots were pushing their fighters to the limits of what the machines could do to protect both the transports and the mothership they launched from. The Militia may have outdated equipment but often times the crews and pilots fought like fanatics. Bombers had to be literally torn to shreds by anti-air batteries to keep them from ramming into hardpoints, the outdated but reliable Crow dropships were poised to board and capture the I.M.C. vessels to add more firepower to their ever-growing arsenal, but the skillful, brave, or even downright crazy, pilots and defenders kept the boarders at bay.

Inside the Goblin, the nine occupants clung to whatever they could to keep themselves upright as the pilot of the ship was forced to take evasive maneuvers to dodge hails of missiles that now saw what the I.M.C. strike team was planning.

"_Falcon 1, this is Falcon 2, we have to break formation and punch it or we'll get torn apart without fighter screens!" _Said the pilot of the dropship in view beside them as it kicked forward.

"You have the 'go ahead' Falcon 2," The pilot of Alan's ship replied, "Get aboard as quick as you can!" He finished before speaking to his passengers, "I want everyone to strap in back there because we're leaving our fighters' protection range and we're going in alone!"

The rest did as they were told, finding a seat and strapping themselves down as the ship spun to dodge a missile or two. Among the curses from the Pilot, the panicked Grunts trying to keep their cool by trying deep breaths, or even praying to survive, none of that could stop the sense of dread that was seeing a pair of Militia Hornets trail behind them. The I.M.C. transport was nearing its target destination, but even so, the Hornets refused to fire missiles likely in fear of hitting something important on the station in front of them which was lucky for Alan and the Grunts with him. However, that didn't stop autocannon cannon firing into them. The Goblin's shields held out, but it wasn't enough. The last of the autocannon rounds blew apart the starboard engine, sending the dropship into an almost spin baWrely kept in position by its pilot, "Falcon 1's been hit, mayday, mayday! Brace for impact!" The pilot shouted as the ship slid into the station's hangar. Unable to slow down at a reasonable pace, the Goblin scraped its underbelly against the metal flooring before slamming through a flight of stairs, destroying both it and its port-side wing before screeching to an… unexpected float.

When the passengers opened their eyes, the equipment with them was trying to escape their pouches and the Goblin's compartments. Then Alan and the rest remembered: No primary power.

No primary power, no gravity.

"Holy shit, we're alive!" Said an enthusiastic Grunt who breathed out a cheer and sigh of relief.

Taken aback himself, the Captain was quick to unstrap himself and grab his weapon, "Alright, cut the chatter, we've got a mission to complete and terrorists to kill. Bravo, assist Charlie and Delta from Falcon 2 in securing this station, Alpha with me, we're headed to engineering to get those guns back online and, on our side, Pilot, find our survivors and deny the Militia access to the defenses!"

"Opening doors on my mark. Mark!" The pilot said from up front.

Falcon 2's compliment of troops was already cleaning up what was left of the defenders in the hangar, though there weren't many to begin with if the bodies were anything to go by. Chances were that the Militia were holding themselves up in the halls and other chokepoints to maintain a well-entrenched position. The only problem now was the lack of intel. It could simply be a handful of insurgent fighters working to snuff out the last pocket of I.M.C. forces, or it could be a force capable of subjugating the crew of a warship. Either way, the I.M.C. strike force needed to hit hard and hit fast while they had momentum, but the lack of gravity certainly put a wrench in that plan.

Once the doors to the Goblin opened, the troops inside 'jumped' to the floor and slowly pulled themselves along via loose debris, railings, and whatever else had a stable surface they could propel themselves with while Alan took advantage of having a jump-kit. The Pilot launched himself upward to the ceiling, catching himself with one hand while drawing his pistol with the other. The Grunts slowly regrouped and disappeared down different entrances into the belly of the station while Alan made a jump to the western path.

The quietness of the station eventually broke with distant echoes of rifles being fired and the occasional yell which signaled Alan to expect resistance to be close by. Soon enough, he found a suspiciously shut door that practically invited him to open it up, but he knew better, and with the fancy new gear the I.M.C. painstakingly worked hard to create, he didn't have to force open the door to see what trap laid on the other side. Pulling his pulse-blade from its pouch, Alan threw it with the force to impale the glass on the door and with a light tap of his foot on the ground, he floated just above the door's frame and grabbed the high-tech kunai from its target. Beyond the door he counted only four enemies behind cover and waiting for the doors to open. They were clever enough too, having one of the defenders mounted on the ceiling for an overhead shot for whoever would have walked in. Slowly, Alan pulled himself to the door's emergency controls and yanked on the handle that would force them open and that's when the bullet's started flying.

Alan's plan would have to be met with quick reactions and speed if he was to survive the Militia that waited for him, so he pulled the pin of his grenade and flung himself back toward the way he came the moment the small cannister landed and puffed into a ball of smoke. Once his feet hit a solid surface, he kicked off it with all the force he could muster while his jump-kit picked up the rest. It was a good thing it helped him along too because it was just enough to propel him through the smoke before it electrified itself and in his sights were the four terrorists waiting to ambush him. They were caught mid-reload and that gave Alan all the time he needed to act. With seven shots he took down the three nearest to the floor with two misses. Three more rounds went to shooting the rifle out of the last Militia fighter's hand as it became the priority target and with a flip and kick off the floor, he launched himself to the surviving Militia Grunt who had just finished a calling for help. Alan underestimated the other man who deflected his pistol which fired its last two shots harmlessly into the ceiling.

Despite the wounded hand, the stubborn Militia soldier balled it into a fist and punched Alan in the stomach as best he could. In response, Alan grabbed the other man's wrist with his left hand, slammed his right forearm down his opponent's inner elbow, and finished it by letting go of his pistol, then unsheathing his knife, slicing across the terrorist's stomach and ending the fight with a stab through his heart. Then, the Pilot was able to rest easy for now, letting out a quick breath of relief for just a moment.

Alan took the opportunity to loot what equipment he could from the bodies suspended in the air: a pair of frag grenades, a battle-worn R-101, and extra ammo for the rifle.

_"Jester 1, come in, repeat, Jester 1, come in, Report in." _Alan overheard from one of the fallen Militia's comms, _"Damn I.M.C…" _The transmission finished before being cut.

The Pilot's intuition told him that reinforcements were on the way.

Preparing for another fight, Alan checked his surroundings, kept note of the possible entrances that could be used, and planned accordingly. There wasn't too much around him save for the bodies of the Militia's foot troops and an empty ammunition crate. Either way, the first team moved in to catch his attention.

With the burst of his rifle sending him backward, two of the Grunts were taken out while the remaining two pulled themselves to whatever cover they could find. To no surprise, there was a second team trying to sneak in and flank him but the moment they moved up to try and overwhelm him, Alan killed one before the broadcasting system came online, "Primary power restored. Caution, artificial gravity is online." The feminine voice said as the occupants of the room fell to the floor with a painful thud for all but Alan, who landed on his feet and pressed the attack.

Another Grunt was killed by what ammo remained in Alan's rifle before the Pilot charged the two remaining flankers. Letting his body flow on its own, he drew his pistol, aimed behind him with a quick glance, and shot another Grunt square through his helmet. Moving his arm only a little more to the left, he launched a grapple that tore a rifle from another terrorist's hands and flinging it back to a Grunt on the opposite side of the room where it smashed through his infantry helmet's visor.

Now there were only two left to stop him.

Alan was going to finish off one of the Militia who was still gasping for air after being winded by his fall, but he heard the quick clatter of boots headed right toward him and before he fully registered it, he was tackled to the ground. From the moment his back hit the metal floor, Alan knew he wouldn't like where this fight was headed, but it was either them, or him and he wasn't about to roll over.

Alan kicked off the aggressor, quickly rising to his feet as the two prepared for a fist fight in front of the still wheezing Militia Grunt on the ground. Of course, Alan did have his side-arm, but drawing out would only risk new ideas entering these insurgents' minds. The Grunt threw a punch, but it was deflected and returned with a fist square across the man's face, then to the stomach, then again in the stomach, then back across the face. The Militia tried to return with a hook, but it missed its target and placed itself into a compromised position in front of the I.M.C. Pilot. Alan grabbed the other man's wrist, brought down his own elbow like a hammer against his foe's exposed elbow which snapped it with an agonizing scream that even made Alan wince at the thought underneath his helmet. Wanting to finish quickly, Alan kneed the man in the stomach, drew his knife and brought it down behind where the other man's heart was. It was a quick death, and as the body hit the floor, the final survivor of the Militia reinforcements pulled himself up with swears and anger, muttering to himself about letting his friends die and being unable to save them. The Pilot knew the feeling too well.

Unfortunately for the Militia Grunt, he would be no hero or avenge his fallen friends. Alan took full advantage of the other man's still winded state and threw two connecting punches, following up with a kick to send him back, and a thrown data knife that impaled itself between the Grunt's eyes as the body fell back to the ground and like that, another name was added to an every growing list.

Tired from the battle, Alan slumped against a wall and fell to the ground to rest. Despite all the simulations he ran, never would they compare to real combat, as a result, his body was starting to feel that too, but it would learn to cope with the exertion again given enough time and field experience.

Feeling adequate enough to get up again after only a few short minutes- with a watchful eye and the barrel of a rifle pointed at one of the entrances- Alan stepped over the bodies he left and continued on his mission to find the command deck. The number of gunshots had died down, for good or ill, but good news arrived when the station shook from its defensive batteries opening fire with a friendly transmission incoming.

_ "Pilot, probably no actual need to tell you but we've got power back online and the survivors are secure. Was there minimal resistance on your end too?"_ The I.M.C. Captain on the other end asked.

"Three squads of Militia all gunning for me? Yeah I don't think I can say so." Alan responded, checking his corners with his new weapon incase there were any stragglers holding out.

_ "I guess they saw you as a more dangerous target. Good work, sir." _The conversation ended as Alan watched the ending of the space skirmish. Now with weapons flanking the Militia vessels from behind, there would be no escape for the insurgent patrol. First to go were the engines that detonated from the cannons fired from the station. Point-defenses shredded the Hornets and their missiles, both trying to strafe the station to offer their ships some semblance of protection, but had all failed. Eventually, the guns stopped on both sides and all that was left was another cloud of debris composed of Militia scraps. From the looks of it though, the _Miss Fortune_ and her accompanying vessels weren't in much the best shape. The battle was not one sided and from the scars, and pieces of armor missing it was clear that the ships needed at the bare minimum some patchwork repairs to its outer hull. Naturally, the marvelous sight would be cut short by yet another transmission, this time from the I.M.S. _Miss Fortune_ itself.

_ "Alan Stassov? Pilot, you still alive?" _He heard a woman's voice on the other end that was gentle and seemed untouched by the vicious battle that had just been fought, and it was not the woman he had expected.

"For now. I can assume I'm not done yet?" Alan answered.

_ "This is Petty Officer Naomi Case, and you would be right. You and man infantry squads will be deployed via drop pod to the surface below to repel an attack on Fort Meadows. I will be serving as your eyes and ears up above, offer technical assistance where I can, and prep your Titan for Titanfall. So, if you would kindly make your way to the pod bay, the other troops have already been instructed and are waiting for you." _Naomi finished.

"Copy that, Miss. What's the word on the ground?" Alan asked as he made his way to his new destination.

_"I.M.C. garrison forces have taken 60% casualties and Militia keep sending an ever-increasing number of troops and war-material. Most, if not all, of the remaining defenders are either held up in fortifications or working with local partisans to hit Militia supply lines."_

"Wow, don't think I've ever heard of a local militia working with the I.M.C. so far."

_"Unfortunately, the _actual _Militia have civilian insurgent groups of their own. We're facing a planetwide civil war here. The '2__nd__ Militia Fleet' is calling in reinforcements on the opposite side of the planet. Our main fleet that we are regrouping with isn't willing to risk a full assault while many troops are still on the ground."_

"Planet must be important if this many resources are being pulled into the battle." Alan suggested as he nodded to the Grunt Captain waiting for him in an open pod.

_"Bullets and weapons aren't much use to an army that can't be fed, besides this breadbasket world has a decent number of innocent citizens supportive of the I.M.C., the least we could do is support them in return."_

"Alpha 1, set to go." The Grunt Captain reported.

_ "Charlie 1, ready to go."_

_"I.M.S. Victoria's_ _Hammers 1 through 4, green to go."_

_ "I.M.S. Titania's Seagull's 1 through 4, good to go."_

_ "I.M.S. Miss Fortune's Stars 1 through 4, set to go." _Alan heard Vanessa report over comms.

_"The hell kind of name is 'Seagull'." _A new voice commented.

_"More majestic than some damn 'Hammers'." _Came a response that made Alan and the three grunts with him chuckle or smirk at the unexpected banter.

_"Feet first into the pits of-"_

_"Shut it, you lot! Cut the chatter and prepare for dropping sequence!" _A commanding voice entered the fray. After that statement, every person in a pod mentally prepared themselves for the freefall from an orbit over a hundred kilometers above the planet's surface and with one final buzz to signal their last moments safely secured in either a station or a warship, the dozen plus two pods were launched straight toward the worn-torn planet below.

* * *

**A.N.: **

**To Soggy Socks 117 - No, there probably won't be much customization at the moment. The Brute is primarily a 'throwaway' Titan to boost numbers to begin with so even if it happened the options are limited. Though, I do like that idea so I might consider it for later when said Titan has been 'tested and proven on the field'.**

**Anyways,**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	7. Chapter 07: Meadows to Mud

"Meadows to Mud"

The drop pod rumbled and shook as it screeched through the atmosphere. Its occupants clung to their harnesses as the trembling grew worse as it always did before impact, but when the small view they had showed them breaking through the cloud layer, the found the battlefield below them to be shrouded in darkness. Only flashes of muzzle fire and lightning illuminated the battlefield while turret spotlights were hunting Militia infantry daring enough to advance.

Impact.

The door hissed open and the four occupants rushed outside into the unforgiving rain and thickening mud that clung to every soldier's boots. The I.M.C. reinforcements were pinned flat on their stomachs thanks to their entrance giving them away, but it wouldn't matter, the firefights were dissolved of any coherent orders or concentrated fire as both sides were practically blinded by the heavy downpour and the constant mud splattering in their faces. What made matters worse was the fear of shooting allies in the vain attempt at hitting a target in the dark. The terrain was so bad even Alan could not do much more than the Grunts themselves, but either way they still needed to repel the terrorist wave hellbent on conquering the rest of the Frontier.

Alan crawled through the mud with the rest of his comrades as bullets whizzed overhead and rockets tried bringing down the defensive turrets with little success, that was until the thundering sound of a 40mm cannon broke the white noise of the rain.

"Shit, we've got a Titan, 12 o'clock! Do we have any AT rounds?" The squad's Captain asked to which he received no positive reply.

Meanwhile, Alan fiddled with his helmet's comms, "_Miss Fortune-_"

_"Already on it, Pilot. Stand by for Titanfall."_ Naomi replied as Alan witnessed the growing number of Militia Titans turning the tide of the battle. His blood ran cold as the hordes simply poured on, especially after the turrets went down in a blaze of fire and smoke. The predicted location of his Titan lit up not far in front of him, prompting him to get up from ground and make a sprint for it.

"Pilot, what the hell are you doing?!" One of the Grunts shouted as a handful of Titans wearing I.M.C. colors emerged from the crumbling walls with their armor beaten and charred with hulls still sparking. Ignoring the man, Alan pushed through the thick mud that tried gluing him to the ground and looked to the sky. A hold in the dark clouds was ripped open and one of the Militia's Crows were crushed by an emerging Titan. Once it landed, splattering mud and bits of fiery debris around its feet, Alan fell down to a slide and straight into a metal hand that helped push him up and inside its armored interior.

"Pilot Mode: Activated. Welcome back, Pilot Stassov."

_"New contact, IFF transponder confirmed. Good to see you, Stassov. Now- Gah- Give us a hand!"_ He heard a friendly Pilot call out to him during the middle of a fight.

"Evi, Headcount, now." Alan demanded as he charged through parts of the Militia's frontline.

"Three other friendly Titans. Six enemy Titans counted." She answered.

He had to move faster if he wanted to make a difference. Alan dashed forward with all the power he had and slammed into an enemy Tone. With an unrelenting force and the agility to keep on the offensive, the Tone's frontal armor was shredded by a single trigger pull from the Quad Rocket Launcher and an additional four missiles already locked onto it. Above, a trio of rockets fired from Archers hit the Tone's back courtesy of the wall's defenders, allowing the I.M.C. Pilot enough time to smash through the Tone's hatch and crush the Militia Pilot inside, but that didn't go unnoticed. Making a quick turn behind him, he saw a mangled corpse of an I.M.C. Pilot picked out of a wrecked Legion and tossed aside by an Ion and an accompanying Northstar. Already he could see the faint glow of the latter's railgun charging up while the former open fired a stream of energy weaponry at the smaller Evi.

"Warning, outnumbered two-to-one." Evi reported.

"I can see that!" Returned Alan as he narrowly dodged a projectile launched toward him.

Evi picked up a transmission from the Ion's Pilot, _"Really? He lost to fodder? Fine, come on Pilot, show me that kill wasn't just luck!"_

Alan locked two rockets on the Ion and fired, but the Militia Titan caught it with its own vortex shield shot it back at Alan. "Hull integrity at 70%. Recommend additional battery to charge shields."

"A what?"

"Shall I run a tutorial?"

"Now's not the time!"

"Locating…" She said as her Pilot was forced to stay within melee range so to eliminate his enemies' ranged threats. "Found." The Titan informed, bringing up a diagram of the Ion Titan."

"You've gotta' be fu-"

"Hull at 40%." Evi interrupted.

Dashing backward, Alan fired two more salvos of rockets from his weapon and the last six from his remaining ordnance. As expected, the Ion managed to catch them all and launch them back, but Alan returned the favor and the Ion was unable to deflect or dodge the second volley. What remained was a still intact Titan with its paint burned off and its exposed interior structure.

_"Christ, maybe it wasn't luck I'll admit that." _Alan heard over comms.

"Evi, keep this Titan between yourself and that Northstar's line of sight, but keep moving forward!" Alan ordered as he hit a few buttons to unlock the front hatch. He returned to the cold and depressing elements with a flash of lightning behind him and a fearful response through his helmet's radio.

_"It can't be, those markings…" _The Militia Pilot shoutedjust as Alan climbed to the Titan's backside where he found a conveniently placed handle to tug on_, "Rusa, bail! Link with the others." _The man finished as his own Titan's arms were locked in the firm grip of the Brute's. Putting effort in twisting just the handle, Alan pulled upward and tore the battery out from the Ion's socket and laid his eyes upon a glowing green 'battery'; at least what he assumed was the battery. _"You can't just go-" _Alan heard the Pilot say, still on open comms before being cut to static as Evi's fist punched through the Ion.

Alan jumped back into Evi who opened her hatch for him, "Again?" Alan asked, following the onscreen instructions the Titan provided.

"I thought it better to eliminate the target." Evi defended herself.

"Whatever, let's…" Alan started after installing the battery behind him and returning to his seat where he expected the Northstar to continue the attack, "And she's gone." He said as Evi charged her shields to 100% and pushed the Ion's limp chassis aside.

"Friendly Titan down. Let us get moving, Pilot." Evi suggested to which her Pilot agreed, "It is now three-to-two."

Once more ignoring the infantry on the ground, Alan pressed forward to aid the last I.M.C. Titan left standing: A single, battle-scarred, Ronin constantly on the move. It never stopped for even a breath, but with three Titans slowly picking away at it, there wasn't much it could do to defend itself while peppered by a Legion, another Ronin, and the Northstar that escaped Alan's sights a minute ago.

With the Titan's legs stomping through the mud, the Northstar turned to fire a quick shot, but Alan was in the air and rained what ammo he had in his Quad Launcher at the unsuspecting Legion beyond the Northstar. Seeing the opportunity, the I.M.C. Ronin fired what looked to be a wave of electricity and hit the Legion during Alan's surprise attack and the Brute's Pilot knew where he was going to land.

Alan dropped on the blinded and stunned Legion, knocking its heavy cannon out of its hand as the Legion fell to its back with a thud. Landing on the Titan crushed its arms and Alan followed Evi's own programming by crashing a fist through the Legion's hull and killing the Pilot inside. Unfortunately that was the last of his ammo as well. His next target was the Northstar that was charging up again, but Alan redirected it with his vortex shields only to be shot in the back by the Militia Ronin. The I.M.C. Pilot had never seen a Titan-sized shotgun before, but now wasn't the time to wonder about it. He let his ally duel the Titan while he charged the Northstar with only fists left at his disposal.

The first shot at him hit like a truck, taking down what was left of his shields, but the second shot was dodged, and the third never had the chance to be sent off as Alan shoved the railgun's barrel to the sky. He punched the Titan in the side and kicked the Northstar's leg out from under it and tearing the rifle out of its hands to be used as a blunt weapon. The first strike made a dent in the Militia Titan's spherical hull, the second crushed through its arm and cracked open the Northstar's hatch.

He raised the makeshift club over his head, but when he saw the wounded woman inside reach up with an arm in an instinctive, but pitiful attempt to defend herself.

Yet, he hesitated.

For a brief moment, he was still. After all the atrocities and crimes he had witnessed orchestrated by the Militia, how dirty they played, how eager they were to keep the war going, he could only think: '_Why?_ _Why did he stop?' _The Pilot only barely registered the fact that he lowered the weapon before being rammed by the enemy Ronin. He fell to the ground and in the blink of an eye he watched the Militia Ronin scoop up its wounded friend into its own interior, and disappear in a flash. Still dumbfounded by his own actions, Alan was only snapped out of it when Evi called him to attention.

"Alan, is everything alright?" She asked.

Alan shook his head to regain focus, turning his attention to a Ronin that was impaled in its 'gut' by a sword and missing an arm. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He answered, not sure if he was lying to himself, but either way he started toward the Ronin and forced open the hatch as he heard over the comms that the Militia were in a full retreat. He let out a sigh of relief at the good news. Evi was down to 25% hull strength, he was out of ammo, and he himself was running on 'empty'.

After the short jog over to the downed Ronin, Alan found inside a wounded woman bleeding from her side and looking up at him with a cracked visor. Alan disembarked and hurried to the other Pilot's side, picking her up by the legs and back and carrying her into Evi.

"Shoulda' kill that bitch…" She weakly spat out.

Alan ordered Evi to head inside the base at a steady pace while Alan did his best to put pressure on the woman's wound, "Try not to move too much, you know very few come out of a three 'v' one still alive.

"Why'd you wait?" She asked. Alan ignored her, shouting for any kind of medic or even supplies to do the work himself with what limited knowledge he had. That question bounced around in his head again as a medical team came into view. Alan reached for the controls to exit his Titan but a gloved had grabbed him and pulled him close, "Don't… Ignore me!" She stubbornly tried to get an answer from the man. Alan gave her a smile under his helmet as he opened up his Titan and picked up the wounded woman.

"Because we're not like them, we're better." Alan answered. The woman scoffed after taking off her helmet and dropping it on the ground. He gave her to the medics whom were quick to get her out of the rain and begin cleaning her various wounds. He picked up the helmet off the wet ground and rubbed a gloved thumb over the shattered glass, "Must have been one hell of a hit." Alan said to himself, "Speaking of which, Evi, let's get you patched up, with luck, maybe you'll be ready by the next deployment?"

"Affirmative Pilot, though I am to remind you to make a report to Commander Botosova of the I.M.S. _Miss Fortune_." The Titan notified Alan, who then sore under his breath.

* * *

**A.N.: Small delay, thanks for waiting!**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	8. Chapter 08: Spark in the Night

"Spark in the Night"

Here he was once again in the seat of a dropship assigned to monitor and protect an evacuation of a neighboring city. By now, Alan was starting to miss the rubble that was Fort Meadows. Although it now lacked hot water and was held together through tape and stubbornness, it earned peace and calm after the attack, but here he was, being sent on another mission not even twelve hours later.

Though the rain had stopped, night had overtaken this side of the planet, but the occasional flash of an explosion in the far-off distance only served to show that the other team was unwilling to show mercy to an exhausted civilian populace and their defenders.

The Goblin flew low over the treetops of the slowly thinning forest that surrounded their destination. The city itself was alive, but barely. Once towering structures that would have otherwise been blindingly bright with advertisements and office workers working late were now few in number and dark enough to even see most of the stars above. In fact, the only major sources of light were military spotlights and generator powered streetlamps that were in use. Unfortunately, that was all Alan and the single infantry squad with him could see.

It wasn't long before the ship hovered over a parking lot cleared and being used as a makeshift landing zone. With hastily set up tents and equipment scattered around for I.M.C. personnel to man and operate from, the assigned troops there looked on edge for fear of even the quietest sound of combat. Things weren't looking too good and that was before the Militia even _showed up_.

When the doors opened up, Alan was greeted by a worn and rough-looking old man in an officer's uniform with an escort of Spectres and behind him, "Good to see you Pilot," He welcomed and shook his hand as the grunts behind Alan carried their things off the ship, "Major Parsons, commander of this city's garrison and the surrounding region. I'm afraid things aren't going quite as planned."

"Forgive me for speaking out of term, sir, but this place looks like its on the brink of collapse." Alan commented as he took in the rundown sights. Any working vehicle had probably already escaped the city and those that remained were stripped for parts or fuel. Now all that remained on the desolate roads were military vehicles patrolling through the city.

The man sighed, "And that would be the _good news_." He beckoned for Alan to follow him, "It's going to get more complicated than that. If you weren't already aware, our fleet has just passed ahead of us which leaves us vulnerable to anything the Militia wants to throw at us. It's a good thing the request for even a single Pilot was approved, we don't have the troops to hold this whole city." The two and their Spectre escorts entered the first floor of an office building that had been boarded up and barricaded. From the looks of it, the hotel's occupants definitely left in a hurry with knocked over decorations and other belongings left behind. Military personnel now filled the interior, those off duty found a place asleep wherever they could: chairs, the floor, one creative man even cleared an unused cubical desk to lay on. "As I said, its grim, and things are only going to get complicated."

"I see, well, what do you need me to do, sir?"

"Hopefully nothing, but I believe a Militia conquest of this city is inevitable. Extra manpower for them to conscript, supplies to be looted, a staging point for neighboring regions. The only thing standing between them and controlling this city are a handful of exhausted, over-extended regulars and the city's partisans working with us. Good men and women, all of them, but they won't last another assault." The officer pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned against a table with a map of the city, "I wish I could allow more people to escape the city, but any more than a handful at a time and the Militia pounces on them. That's not to mention our own dwindling supplies and terrified populace to protect and keep calm. With everything we're dealing with, we simple can't spare anyone to go out and protect them."

"Partisans won't do it?"

"They would, but even if they did, and the Militia _do_ ambush them, it would make no difference. They're citizens generous enough to support us, not soldiers."

"Then what's the plan?"

"Wait and pray the Militia choose not to attack. However, their answer will come at any moment and we are _not_ ready. My orders for you: Sit and watch over the city. If and when the Militia come, if I do not contact you, then we have already lost and you are on your own, but please, do whatever you must to protect our people. Dismissed."

\- ( o ) -

Even from the rooftops, there was still some laughter to be heard from the people down below. Alan waned to follow orders and relax a little, but deep in his heart he knew that another battle was inevitable as the Major predicted. He was a little tired from the boredom as he sat on the edge of a roof several stories off the ground. The asphalt wasn't particularly comfortable, but he'd been in worse conditions. Unlike those below him though, he didn't have the companionship of friends and close comrades anymore.

Alan let himself slip, pushing himself back from the edge to ensure gravity wouldn't sneak up on him and he looked up at the star-lit sky above. The moon above had tiny evidence of human occupation, but nothing else. Quiet night on a mission, Militia threat still pending, even the worn-out looks of the I.M.C.'s ground forces, all that was missing now was his energetic and carefree friend Kathrine giving him a warm smile with a steaming cup of coffee to keep them both awake throughout the night.

But they took her.

Even the memories were now bitter. The more he remembered everyone's faces and names, the greater his hatred grew for the rebel organization. It was already bad enough that the Militia were willing to use tactics that broke the rules of war, and now they still the audacity to call themselves 'the good guys'. There was no end to the amount of war-crimes these terrorists were willing to commit.

His eyes closed for a moment as his mind rambled on and on to itself. The lonesome Pilot let out a small sigh, he accepted the fact that there would be death in this conflict, but that didn't make the blow any softer.

Alan was about to surrender to the peaceful night and take a little nap, serenity around him, until the faint sound of several engines grew closer, and closer, and closer, and then, the roar of said engines boomed overhead, alerting the whole city to their presence.

There was no time to even think before the Hornet fighters unleashed their arsenal upon the city below them. No structure was spared with wings upon wings of fighters carpeting the city with everything they had. There was no warning, no sirens to alert the defenders, only devastation on a colossal scale. The first to tip and collapse were the skyscrapers deeper into the city, and as the jungle of concrete and steel collapsed in on itself, the skies rained drop pods and fleets of Crows. It took minutes for the Pilot to get his feet moving again, but he had a sickening feeling that he could do nothing once again. From the small glimpse he caught of those on the ground as his own building collapsed, I.M.C. forces could do nothing but scatter and hide.

After the side of his building was hit, Alan was quick to latch onto its neighbor with his grapple. Unfortunately, it to would fall in a domino style tumble, but there was nothing he could do other than seek a safe way to ground. It was about now that he somewhat envied some of the newer generation pilots, were they in the same situation they could get out of this with ease, but now wasn't the time to think about that.

The Pilot ran along the rooftops of the crumbling buildings, only to barely catch the last edge as it started to fall. Not wanting to be crushed between two buildings, Alan fought his way to the top just in time to experience the final structure left standing on his block fall. As he fell with it, he sounds of wild rifle fire and the streaks of Hornets conquered the air. Unable to take the brunt of a fall from several stories up, Alan let himself slide down the tipping roof to buy himself as much time as he could before making a jump to counter his momentum as best he could.

It was enough.

Alan tumbled and rolled to a halt, surrounded by rubble in the middle of what could barely be called a street anymore. Winded and with strained legs from what distance remained of the fall, Alan tried to force himself up, but his body wouldn't let him without giving itself a small moment to recuperate.

"Command, come in." Alan weakly called through his comms, "Major?" Nothing, "_Miss Fortune, _this is-" 'Signal Interrupted', his helmet reported to him, "Shit." He cursed to himself. Pulling himself to his feet for a second time, Alan needed to find a safe location to hold out in for the time being at least so he took out his Hammond, and begun a trek through the crumbling ruins. The first thing he came across was a Crow dropping of a squad of Grunts who almost seemed a little disappointed that they weren't being shot it, but that would change.

The moment the drop ship departed was the moment Alan decided to strike. He unpinned a grenade and chucked it at the group of four in the middle of the street to which the all ducked to the ground and hoped for the best, but two of them were caught in the blast. Not wasting any time, the Pilot latched himself to what remained of a wall and zoomed toward them. There wasn't a chance for the last two Militia grunts, but they did try in vain. The third went down in a flurry of bullets from Alan's Hammond as the fourth was shot in the left leg and right shoulder. The I.M.C. Pilot was about to finish the job before the man rolling and wailing in pain tried to crawl away. Alan wasn't about to kick down a defeated opponent, so instead he dragged by the legs to bring him closer. The man tried to defend himself with his one good arm, but his expected death didn't come for it had been replaced with being stripped of his weapon and equipment.

"Hopefully your people care about more than just winning." Alan said as he loaded the new model R-201 and grabbed whatever else the grunt had on him. Alan left the man to his fate, he might have otherwise kept an eye on him had the Militia not spoiled his old opinion about them, but even then, he had to help his allies in battle.

Under the cover of darkness, Alan crept building to building, silencing the teams deployed to secure their respective areas. He needed to get into contact with someone, _anyone_ at this point would do. Wandering out aimlessly would get him killed eventually, and comms were down which made attempts to call for help fall on deaf ears. His time was running short too as one by one the pockets of resistance fell and the city grew quieter once again with each passing minute. There could be no room for rest, no time to think, not yet, not while there was someone out there somewhere struggling to fight against Militia occupation.

The next main street he came across was a rather large one with almost two dozen Militia troops setting up a quick base of operations. He couldn't take them all alone, not at once at least, but there was a Crow preparing to depart which gave him an idea.

Climbing he highest structure still standing, Alan broke into a sprint and leaped off of it. His jump kit broke his fall upon landing on top of the craft which was already spinning up its engines once again. The Pilot ran to the front of the ship just as started to lift off striking fear into the heart of the Crow's pilot as he latched to its canopy with the barrel of his rifle aimed at the glass. He held the trigger and emptied his clip into the pilot and ship's controls, setting it ablaze in a fit of sparks. The Crow swayed side-to-side until it decided to smash itself straight into a ruined building, but Alan jumped out of harms way just in time.

Alan skid to a halt and rolled to his back as the sound of fighting died down to nothing. All that was left was the burning wreckage he made, the yells of the Militia troops not too far away investigating the crash, and the steadily increasing rate of tapping of rain against his helmet again. Tired, and steadily losing hope for the city's inhabitants, Alan crawled inside the closest ruined building next to him. Inside, the rain poured once more as the Pilot propped himself up against a wall out of sight from the outside world. The building itself housed several small tables and chairs too small for someone his size, but he didn't need to be hit on the head to figure out it was something akin to a school or similar. Ironic wasn't it? For all the pride the Militia put in acting like high and mighty liberators, they are still blinded by their own arrogance. Regardless, he was alone and surrounded by enemies that would be more than happy to parade his body through the ruined streets assuming they knew him by appearance as was the case for that other Militia Pilot. Until then, he was more than happy to rest.

_"Hello? Is anyone out there? We're trapped and the Militia are at our doorstep…"_

But not now.

* * *

**A.N.: Here's to a good 2020!**

**To Soggy Socks 117 - Alan wears the classic armor and helmet from the original Titanfall, the only difference is the additional equipment (i.e. grapple and others). For me doing a bit of reading/pondering, and as shown in TF2's intro, it only makes sense that most of the equipment can be used simultaneously with a few exceptions. Also,**** as a matter of fact, I have watched ****Roanoke's videos and I will say that the biological/cybernetic enhancements do (or will) play a role here at a later date. Thank you for enjoying!**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	9. Chapter 09: Following Orders

"Following Orders"

The air held the scent of smoke from the smoldering ruins still burning from the initial bombardment while moon above was barely able to poke its light through the crying clouds on the deafly quiet city that now lied all but silent and abandoned. Militia troops flooded and patrolled the streets tagging buildings with slurs, tags, and propaganda against the I.M.C. and looting whatever wasn't nailed down or destroyed. For the people still trapped there, they thanked the invaders for 'liberating them', even if it was because they were being held at gunpoint. Sometimes, not even that was enough to save them.

Still under the cover of the rain and the dark night, Alan traversed slowly through the streets, trying to get into contact with the transmission he picked up. Unfortunately, the large patrols made it difficult to do so without getting caught and so patiently the Pilot had to wait for them to pass. Every second for him mattered, every minute was a life he could save if there were any left in the first place.

Alan wasn't sure how long had passed, but eventually he managed to arrive at a slope leading into an underground garage with its main door cut open and a number of empty magazines and bullet casings. He stepped through what was left of the garage door and into the interior which smelled of gunpowder and blood. There were only a couple of Militia bodies dotted around the entrance, but on the other side was the remains of a barricade made out of car parts and easily double the number of bodies. A pair of I.M.C. Grunts appeared to have stayed back, in vain as behind their bodies were a number of Men and a few Women equipped with outdated body armor and armed with whatever firearm they could find from R-201s to the old G2A4s that had gone out of service a long time ago. He clutched the R-201 rifle that he had taken and continued forward, stepping over the bodies in his path the slowly draining his hope every step of the way.

In front of Alan was a busted open door barely hanging onto one hinge with a few bullet holes through it. He could only assume that there was an underground subway or it was to house the building's emergency generator room, but in any case, what snapped him to attention was the quiet voices he heard from far below. He could've made a sprint down the stairs, but that would be too slow for him, no, Alan grabbed the side of the railing and jumped over railing and used his jump kit to slow much of his fall.

"Come on, our friends _died_ just to free you, and there's not even a sliver of gratitude!" Said a voice from down the hall.

Alan kept his footsteps soft as he approached a doorway, he heard the plea of a mother, 'We surrendered, we surrendered, just leave us alone!' She kept repeating. Should he plan how to breach? Did he have the time? How many were there? He could use his pulse blade but that was precious seconds he didn't have. He wasn't sure what to do first, but when he heard metal scraping against the concrete, the Pilot didn't hesitate to kick open the already slightly ajar door only to witness a broken off pipe smash into the face of one of the two Militia Grunts inside a small room with a hallway that continued on and a small storage closet that had been forced open.

He wasn't fast enough.

While one of the Militia recoiled from the strike, the other retaliated with the pull of his gun's trigger. Caught off guard by the new Pilot that arrived, the Grunts could do nothing as Alan shot the uninjured one in the lower back and the other in the left leg and stomach before tossing the rifle aside in outrage. Alan approached the closest Militia insurgents who could barely look back before the Pilot grabbed the other man's mouth and head and twisted with all his strength while the surviving Militia on the ground rolled on the ground, groaning and swearing in pain.

Alan walked over and picked up the bloodied pipe as he saw an innocent girl clung to her fading mother. The last insurgent tried to crawl away as he saw the intimidating sight of a faceless Pilot approaching him with a blunt weapon, "W-Wait! S-Stop, I-I'll tell you where the others are! I surrender!"

The Pilot tightened his grip around the pipe as he looked down at the man in disdain, "So did they."

"Wait!" He shouted one last time before raising his arm to defend himself.

Was he really going to do this? No one would know, no one would've blamed him either so, Alan raised his arm and it froze. The woman was a _civilian _and still was executed, by all means he could, _should_ strike the man.

But he couldn't. it took every fiber of his being to restrain himself, he'd a liar if he followed through, so he tossed the pipe aside with an angry yell at himself. However, as the terrorist smiled at his luck, Alan unholstered his pistol and shot him twice in the stomach before following up with a shot between the Militia's eyes.

After letting out a breath, Alan returned focus on the wounded woman, she was shot just below the ribs. It was a death sentence for the woman, unless…

Alan scrambled over to the two Militia bodies and searched them for any medical supplies, but of course there was nothing to use, but to his surprise he found the second-best thing: Stim, or at least a nearly empty syringe of it. Leave it to the Militia to still pump their troops full of drugs to get an edge in combat. He wasn't quite sure if it would work in the first place, but there was no reason not to try and save at least one person in this damned city!

After tearing off a piece of cloth from a Militia uniform with his knife and grabbing the syringe, Alan hurried back over to a growing pool of blood. First was to ball up the cloth and put it the wound, "Hey, come over here, can you do something for me?" He said as gently as he could to the young daughter after taking off his helmet to aid in the attempt. Alan was willing to wait, but didn't feel safe in terms of time, so he pulled the young girl to him, "I need you to do something very important. Put your hands right here, and hold it as much as you can. Don't let go no matter what." Alan said as he put her hands on the cloth that was starting to soak in blood, "She'll get better, trust me."

"Do you promise?" The girl asked with teary eyes, now focused entirely on the task she was given.

Alan cringed at the words as they bit into him as much as he bit his own tongue. "Yeah. Yeah, I promise, she'll get better." He reassured with a small smile. If mistress luck was listening- and she probably was considering how many times she screwed Alan over before- then he hoped that this would work or at least buy time for proper medical treatment.

Lifting her limp arm, Alan searched for a vein and then injected what was left of the stim once he had found it. He held his breath for a brief moment, but the small jolt from the woman's body gave him relief. Her eyes shot open and she took a dep breath to try and compensate from the pseudo-adrenaline that had just been injected into her. The girl smiled and was about to wrap her arms around her mother but Alan stopped her by keeping said hands on the wound, "Remember, you can't let go no matter what." Alan repeated with a smile as he grabbed his helmet, "You keep her safe now, ok?" He said as he stood up, "Are there others?" Alan asked the woman. She only gave half a nod, but it was enough for Alan, "Sit tight, we'll get out of here before the sun shines overhead. Hopefully those others still have a medic with them or something."

Alan left the two, he knew that they could do little to defend themselves, but there were still the others to think about. He _had_ got there in time, now all that was left was to follow the Major's orders.

Sprinting down hall, Alan saw two figures up ahead. He didn't want to stop for any reason, so jumped up to a wall with what limited space he had and drew his pistol. In seconds he caught up to they turned upon hearing his footsteps. Alan drove his boot into one's head as it was slammed into the concrete wall while the other took two bullets through the chest.

He was getting closer from the sounds of it. Shouting, threats, metal being cut open, men shouting to prepare for a breach, it was the end of the road for whoever it was to make the call for help. Alan entered the second floor of a large area with various pipes and wires strung up and installed everywhere. It was connected to a sickly green water line filled with moss, algae, and other stuff that Alan wasn't even sure how to identify, but on the floor below him was a single metal door and barricaded window with a dozen Militia surrounding it.

Alan didn't stop his sprint, he jumped and kicked off a wall as he threw his pulse blade into the neck of one of the Grunts and shot another two before landing on his feet.

"Oh shit, it's a Pilot!" One of the Grunts shouted as he was then tackled to the ground by Alan.

The Pilot finished him with a shot to the head and then turning to kill the terrorist next to him with the last of his magazine as the rest of the group only now was able to reorganize to try and deal with him. Premature shots went off as they tried to quickly act before being targeted themselves but without proper aim they might as well have hit thin air.

Alan picked up his pulse blade and drew his knife, throwing the former into the throat of a Militia on his left before jumping up with the aid of his gear to kneed the man in front of him in the face and stun him. Landing back on the ground just as the power flickered and died, but Alan could see clearly thanks to the pulse picked up by his helmet.

Alan grabbed the Militia soldier still dazed in front of him and threw the man into the ground before stabbing his data knife through his heart. Proceeding to two of the terrorists that were approaching him.

"Where the hell is he? I can't see a damn thing!" Said a voice further away.

"Contact!" One of the pair headed toward him said as emergency lights were struggling to turn on. Alan slit across the man's throat with his knife and took his rifle as the Militia rifleman fell to his knees, scrambling to grab his bleeding neck.

Using the newly acquired R-201, Alan gunned down the Grunt to his immediate left as he steadily headed to the final three. They tried to surround him, but it wouldn't matter as Alan shot the rifleman on his right in the chest with the last of the gun's ammunition. Without time to reload, Alan threw the rifle with both hands at the Militia in front of him which knocked him back and punched the man on his left square in the cheek and stomach, taking his rifle and holding the trigger as the gun fired into the Grunt who then slid down the wall with a small trail and pool of blood. He didn't forget about the last Militia rifleman though, the terrorist was already shaking off the impact, so Alan shot his grapple and yanked the rifle right out of the Militia's hands. As he was doing this, the rifleman charged and tried to punch Alan, but the Pilot was quick to dodge before retaliating with a sweep of his leg and finished the Militia with a heavy punch.

Finally, Alan was able to catch his breath.

The Pilot heard creaking behind him, and still on his adrenaline, Alan turned to face the new contact with a knife and a defensive stance, but he lowered his guard when he saw the colors of an I.M.C. uniform.

"Pilot! You're alive! Ha-ha, I knew someone was out there!" The I.M.C. Grunt triumphantly cheered as he exited the room and signaled to whoever was inside which promptly caused the lights to turn back on. "Listen we have a plan-"

"There's a woman and child back where you came from. The woman is injured and needs desperate medical attention ASAP." Alan said between breaths.

"R-Right, we're on it! We've gotta' head over there anyways. Echo, you're up, we're getting out of here!" The man said as Alan leaned against a few pipes to rest.

He did it, he managed to get here in time, but he knew the battle wasn't over yet and with Militia crawling all through the ruins of the city, the biggest challenge had yet to come.

* * *

**A.N.: ~  
**

**To Soggy Socks 117 -**** Yes, other equipment/boosts from Titanfall 2 will be included, but slowly introduced over time. Good luck, and thanks for enjoying!  
**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	10. Chapter 10: The Last

"The Last"

"Alright, listen up, we're out numbered, out gunned, and out of options, so we're leaving this city by morning!" Announced the I.M.C. squad captain from the back of a functioning Samson. assault truck to the small group of individuals in the still battle-scarred garage, "There are two ways out of this city, by road, where we drive like hell past all the debris and try and find a safe route to the bridge to the north where we can safely exit the city and hope to bloody hell we can get by without getting destroyed by the hundreds if not thousands of Militia outside. The safer route is through the subway system, if luck is on our side then it will have remained intact from the bombardment. Unfortunately, the Militia know all of this too and unless something is done, they _will_ flood the place with patrols or Spectres, the latter of which would be an instant end to our escape." He finished.

When the ragtag group of citizens and what remained of the garrison were rescued from being overrun, they had thought the worst was behind them, that a Pilot could turn the tide just enough for them to slip away without too much of a difficulty, but things would only get worse. Cut off from command and with no hope of reinforcements, the small band might as well have been all that the I.M.C. had left on the planet.

"Which brings me to some grave news," The captain said, gripping his audience with worry and fear, "Some of us will have to go by road and create a distraction. It's not an original idea, but it might work long enough for the subway team to leg it out of the city. The forests in the west will protect you long enough to either get a signal out or even make it to the nearest I.M.C. base. It'll be a long trek, but unless any of you wish to stay here, it's the only option. You have an hour, make your decision and really think about it. Dismissed. Alpha, keep first watch, Echo, if you're not tending to someone get to loading the Samson and Gremlin."

Alan watched the rest go to work or debate among themselves about what to do while he inspected his equipment again and again. The chances of them making it out at all were slim at best, and that was disregarding the fact that he knew he would be on the suicide squad to unleash as much chaos as possible to draw in Militia forces. His R-201 had only three full magazines left, his Hammond with only a single magazine already loaded. They had a box of grenades stripped off the Militia corpses along with their weapons and ammo, but that went to resupplying the others rather than himself and so he waited for the time to come by being sat on the ground with his back resting against a bullet hole ridden wall. He occasionally flipped on and off his emergency transponder, hoping that by pure chance something would get through before giving up and leaving it on, but the Militia had phenomenal electronic warfare; he'd credit them for that much, even if it had its limits. Nevertheless, the Pilot decided to try and shut his eyes under his helmet, hoping he wouldn't be disturbed for at least a little while.

In a flash, a good hour or so had passed and the Pilot along with the group he had linked up with were stopped in their tracks by a transmission broadcasted on all channels by a man with deep, stern voice that spoke rather professionally which was different considering the Militia's history and choice in officers- save for one traitorous Vice-Admiral-, "Attention, citizens of New Veleska, this is Reidar Claussen of the Militia Garrison sent to liberate this city. Survivor accounts have reported that you are harboring a dangerous Pilot affiliated with the I.M.C., I would be weary of him if he is with you. If he surrenders, or if he is brought to the nearest Militia personnel for escort, I shall personally grant amnesty for the ones to bring him in. If I were you, I would do the right thing, but I cannot say my employers will be as forgiving to I.M.C. sympathizers. Good day to you all, you have until 1200 hours. Over and out." And so, the transmission ended leaving Alan looking at a room full of eyes looking back at him. With many of them armed and eyeing him, Alan slowly shook his head anticipating the worst.

Luckily, the Captain stepped between then, "Alright, change of plans, we're leaving _now_!" He said as he ordered Echo team to rally up both the wounded and the fit civilians before they could cause a fuss, "The last thing we need is to be turning on each other in a moment like this, understand?" The Captain yelled over a growing crowd of disgruntled people. "I don't give a damn; we need to go. _Now! _If any of you want to aim-" He continued before being interrupted by scream from a Grunt coming back inside from watch.

"We've got four groups of riflemen surrounding the exit, sir! I suspect dropships are on their way too!" The grunt on guard reported.

"There no way they-" The Captain said before coming to a realization, "Knew where we were…"

Panic was starting to foster in their hearts.

"Everyone, get out of this city, fast! Alpha, Echo, load up and prepare for the fight for your lives!" The Captain finished before grabbing another grunt by the shoulders, "Private Tanner, you go with them and lead them out of this fallen city, stay on the move, don't leave the civilians behind, but do. Not. Stop." The Captain finished saying before he got into the driver seat of the Gremlin up at the front, starting the engine that was a one-way trip.

They numbered only eight including Alan. Eight against an army of hundreds…

[Edit Start]

With the beat-up vehicles ready to go, the eight soldiers of the I.M.C. mounted up and took their last breaths of dusty, damp, peaceful air despite being in the midst of civilians struggling to stay in an orderly fashion so that escape could run smoothly.

Alan climbed the back of the Samson, helping the other three grunts of Echo team load up a single box of spare ammunition and six extra grenades, "Think this'll be enough?" One grunt asked while being pulled up by his squadmate.

"Maybe if you can actually hit something this time." The other man laughed, making fun of his comrade who only grumbled and retaliated with light jab to his arm.

"Pilot, you've faced insurmountable odds before, right?" The third grunt asked, loading his rifle and watching the last of the civilians disappear from the garage.

"Only once, and we were fortified in an old fort." Alan replied, checking over his weapons one last time before answering the man.

"Don't worry about it," The second grunt said as he slung his arm over the other's shoulder, "Let's just not forget the count we have going, lowest buys drinks!" He said optimistically, giving the other two a small boost in morale.

"Then don't go buying that cheap stuff later!" Said the first grunt.

With one final chuckle from the trio, the trucks kicked forward, bashing through whatever was left of the garage door that stood in their way. Not even two seconds later, on the dark, desolate streets of the city the gunfire started with the mounted machine gun from the Gremlin in front. Their tires screeched against the asphalt as the heavy thuds of the turret and the myriad of rifles lit up their surroundings like a firework in the night sky.

At first, the Militia Riflemen were no match for the sudden charge nor were they able to keep up. All they could do was fire at the armored vehicles flooring it down the streets with their bullets unable to pierce the outermost shells of their armor.

By now, the whole city was alerted to the raging sound of two crazy drivers and their trigger-happy passengers. "I'm at four!" One of the men said.

"Keep up, I'm at six." Came a reply.

With the hive stirring up now, the Militia were hounding after their blood, eager to tear them apart however they could, but none could succeed. "Watch our flanks, terrorists have got technicals!" Someone called out as a truck full of enemy combatants tried ramming the Samson off the road. Alan grabbed a grenade from the rumbling box at their feet and primed it.

"Break window, right!" Alan instructed one of the men who complied, shooting at the driver who swerved and ducked to avoid being shot himself while the other two suppressed the enemy troops in the back. With nothing but shattered glass left, Alan threw the frag inside the enemy vehicle, seeing a slight panic in the driver before having the interior detonate, kick off a number of riflemen, and crash through the crumbling remains of a building.

"Two more on our six, aim for the drivers and tires!" Shouted one of the men before the sound of dropship engines loomed over them. Two Crows, each with a spotlight shining down on either of the two I.M.C. vehicles that made a sharp turn to the right.

"Damn spotlights!" A grunt said, trying to take aim before having a bullet tear through his torso and him collapsing back down.

"Shit, we've got a man down, I repeat-" The second grunt reported, ducking for cover and occasionally blind firing behind them.

_"Keep firing, don't give them time to rest!"_ The Captain ordered over local comms.

A new dropship landed in front of them, but the Captain ahead of them made a hard-left turn to avoid ramming into the outdated dropship. As instructed, the three defenders and the Gremlin's gunner kept the pressure on the Militia that did poorly in their shots.

Now, an additional four Crows joined the chase with their side-doors open with rocketeers firing dumb-fire rockets with their Archers that surprisingly wildly missed. The three could do nothing against them so long as their shields were up, but they weren't going to let it be easy. "Pilot, concentrate fire on the Crow, 5 o'clock." Alan was told. He complied, and the two of them emptied a whole magazine each into overwhelming the shields. The Pilot took another magazine from the dwindling supply of only four left, but he saw two more missing grenades and one of the men prime them both. The I.M.C. soldier threw the first, the explosion of which cracked the glass which prompted Alan to help out and fire a couple rounds to further weaken it. The Second grenade was thrown and went off in a burst of fire and shrapnel, setting the front of the Crow ablaze with sparks and smoke. The ship struggled to stay in the air, eventually crashing down into the Militia technical below it in a giant boom that rang through the air and caused all parties involved with shake a little from the shockwave. Another barrage of rockets and a landed dropship cut off their left and straight paths on the intersection up above, forcing the tiny convoy of two to jerk to the right and dodge them both once again.

Something wasn't quite right about all of this.

"Technicals are withdrawing, all that's left are those Crows!" Shouted one of the men, "Captain, how much longer? We're almost dry!" He called through comms. Alan looked down to the sea of bullet casings and found the box to be empty save for a single grenade

_"Thirty seconds, make those last shots count!" _Came the orders.

With Militia's ground vehicles gone and there being no more hope to fend off the crows, the three turned their attention to the sides of the vehicles and the front where they saw the gunner for the Gremlin get shot and fall inside the vehicle. With the last of their dwindling ammo counters, the last of the I.M.C. forces in the whole city made shot for Militia on the rooftops and setting up barricades before there was a collective 'click' of everyone's guns.

Fortunately, the convoy made one last hard-left, screeching tires and all, onto a wide bridge spanning across a huge river that was a steep drop below them, but upon hearing the sound of three Hornets' jets swoop down from the sky, they finally realized what was happening.

_The Militia weren't trying to kill them. Not yet at least._

The Hornets unleashed every missile they had and demolished the center of the bridge, but the debris and ordinance caught the Captain's Gremlin, destroying it in an instant.

"Aw, hell…" Their driver said in disbelief.

"Back up, back up, back up!" He was ordered by another Grunt, but it wouldn't matter as two dropships full of Militia riflemen deployed behind them, weapons drawn and ready to pull the trigger. Meanwhile the sound of a large drop pod broke through the atmosphere and plummeted to the ground.

A Titan.

When the mechanical giant landed, the truck crashed into its leg before promptly being flipped forward with a mighty kick, sending Alan and the surviving grunts in the back flying forward and tumbling against the shattered bridge's road. Their vehicle was totaled and debris and casings rattled chaotically all over the ground.

Dazed, Alan could not see the sheer amount of Militia troops surrounding their location with even more dropships circling around them. Winded, the Pilot could not catch he breath well enough to gather strength. Injured and beat up from the fall, his body ached and fought for him to stay still. Yet, in the dispersing cloud of debris, smoke, and dust, in the morning rays the sun, Alan could make out a fat, Ogre-class Titan picking up its thermite launcher. A Scorch, clad in dark, battle-worn paint with crimson details and stripes. He couldn't believe it; he _wouldn't_ believe it. Those colors were of a brutal foe that was supposed to be dead; Alan was the one who killed him.

The Titan took its first step, crushing the Samson truck and the driver still trapped inside, _"Like moths to a light." _The Militia Pilot announced. Alan gasped for air, grabbing whatever strength he could muster to push himself to his hands and knees. _"We've drawn quite the crowd, Stassov."_

Alan, upon hearing himself singled out, stood to his feet, grabbing his stinging right arm with his hand. He was surrounded by dozens of them, this time they had brand new equipment, new armor, new weapons. Reinforcements? Perhaps, but it wouldn't matter either way. The Militia Pilot emerged from his Titan and dropped to the ground. He was a rather tall man, wearing the infamous black armor with a red band around his left arm. "I hope you didn't come to see us beg." Alan said to the tall man who drew a pistol.

"No," He said, his voice informing Alan that this man was the very 'Reidar Claussen' over the comms. 'Reidar' continued his stride toward Alan, not even pausing to shoot one of the grunts in the back of the head and kicking over the other, "I came to put you down myself."

Alan charged forward to save his last surviving comrade, but instead he received a whip from the handle of a pistol and a kick to the chest that sent him to the ground. He couldn't do anything else but watch the other man finish off the downed grunt.

He was alone. Alone against the hundreds yet it felt like he had weight of the world watching him. "When I heard you survived and killed the Reaper himself, my predecessor, I had the expectation that you were a fine warrior, yet here you are trying to run away. I would have hoped you had rather stay and fight 'till the bitter end." He said with disappointment in his voice. Reidar holstered his gun and stood a foot taller above the I.M.C. Pilot, "Come on, show me how you've killed so many Pilots!" He exclaimed with open arms.

Alan stepped back and rolled his shoulder.

"Fine, I'll pull it out myself if I have to." The Militia Pilot muttered, stepping up to Alan and throwing the first punch.

Alan evaded the attack with a quick dash back before pushing forward with a heavy elbow to Reidar's tightened stomach. The other man wasn't fazed by the blow, instead, he grabbed Alan by the shoulders and kneed him in the chest before throwing him back to the ground.

With the breath knocked out of him, Alan was on the ground dizzy with pain. "Come on up, we aren't finished here." He heard the other man say from above. He was grabbed by the arm and pulled to his feet, hand pressed against his back to help Alan catch his breath, "I sincerely hope that one hit is all you can take. I'll let you make the next move."

Alan's breathing was starting to return to normal as he was back at square one. Taking the offer, he went for a hook that was easily blocked, but Alan wasn't done, he punched Reidar in the stomach again which was only slightly more effective than the first time, grabbed him by his collar and pulled back to throw him over his shoulder by dropping to the floor as well. It was enough to get the other man to land harshly on his back, but Alan too was on the ground and had to get up quick, but his foe was quicker.

Alan went for a backfist that smashed across Reidar's helmet which gave him an opening for a punch to the gut which was hastily deflected. He then threw a second punch but the Militia Pilot caught Alan's fist and tossed him over his shoulder, slamming him into the pavement.

Reidar let Alan rest as he paced around the I.M.C. Pilot like a predator circling its prey waiting for it to finally give up the struggle, "You are no warrior!" He proclaimed.

Alan, beaten and already at the limit of what damage he could take, looked to the other side of the destroyed bridge. It was so close, yet it felt so far. It was a suicide mission to begin with, there was no expectation about surviving. Why bother resisting then?

Alan shut his eyes one final time as he laid on his back with the sun still taking a little peek to catch a glimpse of the fight on the bridge, but once again, his comms came to life with a terrified voice and the sound of a battle being played

_"This is Private Tanner, is there anyone out there? The Militia have waves of spectres pouring in from all sides, we are surrounded-" _He heard as the line cut to static.

They were no threat, but _still_ the Militia sought to snuff out every last person working with the I.M.C., man, woman, old, young, even the wounded. Now Alan remembered why he enlisted in the first place; the unbridled rage of the core worlds that burned within him rekindled once more. These people were no saviors, no liberators, no freedom fighters, they were _conquerors!_

Alan scrambled to his feet and drew his pulse blade. He charged the man who had his back turned and prepared for a stab, but his loud footsteps gave away his intent and then Reidar turned to face Alan once again, but the I.M.C. Pilot changed his plans and threw the blade, embedding it into the other man's arm who winced in pain. He was about to pull it out but Alan kept his speed and landed a powerful punch to Reidar's gut. He didn't stop there, again and again he threw blows that landed, each giving Alan more ground to work with until he was finally out of breath and couldn't put anymore power into his hits.

Stunned, Reidar looked to Alan with a bloodied arm and a smirk under his helmet, "Should've tried harder." He coughed out as the two stared each other down. "Unlike you I can take just about anything you can throw. Unlike me, you're just old blood!" He said with a punch to Alan's ribs. Alan could feel a crack in his right side even through the armor he had, "Your generation is outdated," He said, grabbing the pulse blade and stabbing Alan in the upper leg, "And I am unimpressed." The Militia Pilot finished, drawing his pistol and shooting Alan through his left side before being grabbed and held up by the other man.

Alan kept trying to resist, but the attempt failed again and again. He was carried over to the destroyed edge of the bridge as the Militia Pilot kept his eyes on him, "Defiant 'till the end, huh? I respect that."

"Then why don't," Alan choked out, "You just end it already?"

"I feel I'm going to be asked that by the others, and do you know what I'm going to tell them?" He asked Alan, having him dangle his feet over the edge, "You weren't worth the bullet."

Alan was raised overhead one last time, and thrown off the edge. Alan instinctively tried to grab for the ledge but it was no use, even if he could reach, even if he used the grapple on his arm, he didn't have the strength nor the will to pick himself up.

He had failed, so quickly, and so utterly.

Alan couldn't contact Vanessa, the only person he was close to that was left, to hear her scold him one last time, so, with only memories left to replay through his head, he smiled, letting his body go limp, and accepted his ultimate fate before he finally felt himself hit the roaring, chaotic waters of the river below.

* * *

**A.N.: Made it to 10, huzzah.**

**As always, enjoy.**

**~Firetoast312**


	11. Chapter 11: Bittersweet Dreams

"Bittersweet Dreams"

With his body dripping wet, Alan felt freezing cold as the occasional wind chilled his slowly drowsy body. Sat back against a tree, the Pilot didn't bother to keep his eyes open long enough to look around, he could only see a thin, red trail from the rushing river and the surrounding trees shielding him from the warm and benevolent rays of the sun above. His breathing was raspy, his hands and feet numb from the cold, but he could still feel the soft dirt he sat upon, a welcome backrest of a tree's trunk that wasn't too comfortable. He could smell the fresh air around him that was free from the taint of gunpowder, fire, and smoke even through his already fading sense of smell.

Alan shut his eyes, they were too heavy for him to keep open and he was already tired from dragging himself from the cold river below him. Now, he wasn't sure what to think about, contemplate his life? Sit back and enjoy the view in front of him? He supposed it did not really matter in the end, as if anyone would be able to read his dying thoughts. So, he got as comfortable as he could, sat against the tree with his ears open to the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves against the wind. It was quiet and peaceful, the opposite of what the man imagined his death to be like considering his loud and chaotic profession.

He slowly started to doze off, thinking about nothing more than the welcome embrace that called for him to rest. How long had it been since he got to properly rest? Days? Weeks? Months? He kind of stopped keeping count, but it was always the worry of being killed in his sleep from the slight rumble of the ship he stayed on, or being woken up by an emergency alarm that signaled for him and the rest of the ground forces to deploy, or any of the other reasons to disturb his sleep.

However, Alan's ears perked up at the sound of conflict, of warfare, of the sounds the Frontier was forced to endure, the sound of gunfire. It was faint at first, not that he cared anymore. Whoever it was, he simply hoped it went well for those opposing the Militia's twisted idea of 'liberation', but the sounds crept closer and closer. Maybe he'd bleed out before then, if they even found him in the first place, but the Pilot wished he could enjoy his surroundings without interruption, but apparently even that simple joy was something he was not allowed to have. Fortunately, the distant firefight ended, and Alan could finally sleep in peace.

"Found the source of the transponder!" A man said, interrupting the Pilot's slumber. The quiet voice was too loud for Alan's liking and he stirred to look away from its direction as if it would muffle the sound once again, "We've got a live one, I need a medivac over here, now!" The voice shouted even louder.

As he heard the engines of a dropship, two pairs of hands grabbed hold of Alan, one pair under his arms, and another by his legs. He winced in pain as the two carried him over and slowly set him down in the metal interior of the ship where he then felt a little prick on his arm. It was uncomfortable, cold, and agonizing when he tried to twist on either of his sides, but eventually the Pilot gave up and kept still.

"Sir, we've gotta' get moving, I'm picking up dozens of Militia signatures on sensors, ETA ten minutes!" Said another man up ahead of Alan.

"All units pack up on the double! We. Are. Leaving!" A familiar, masculine voice said as a few more footsteps clanked against the metal floor of the ship before the doors sealed shut. Alan was curious, he had heard this voice before, but where? With the new question becoming a new stimulus stirring his mind once again, the wounded man forced his eyes open just enough to see another Pilot signal for the Goblin's pilot to lift off, "You'll make it friend, you've walked off worse." He said as Alan drifted off to sleep again, "Quick, what keeps you going? Is there anyone you constantly come back to?" The man asked, but the wounded Pilot could not answer, "Damn! Command I need an emergency medical team…" The man finished, but his voice slowly becoming nothing more than muffled noise.

What does keep him going? He had fought for petty revenge before and it had got him far enough, but now look where it got him. His family is dead, his friends are dead, even his old squad is dead with half of them by his own hand after they turned coat to the Militia's cause. Had he really lost everything? It looked like it, but there was one exception: he still _had_ to come back, for Vanessa's sake. She'd been there since the literal beginning, and she was all that was left. He should've talked to her more, but with her being in command of a ship keeping her busy and Alan finding himself constantly on deployment after deployment, there was little time for the two of them. He missed the old days…

The next time he came back to awareness, he heard orders being shouted out and yells for others to get clear echo around him as he felt his body to be at the mercy of those that picked him up. He could not hear what the were saying, not could he see them past the darkness or blurred vision, but even through that, Alan was bombarded by lights racing overhead with a number of individuals speaking amongst themselves as they rushed him to who knows where. His dull sense of smell could make out the faint scent of disinfectant a scent he automatically hated, but could not do anything against it so much as twitch his fingers in a vain attempt to cover his nose from the overwhelming smell. Finally, the last thing he remembered was being rushed into a room with a blinding light shining on him and being put to sleep.

-(o)-

Here he was, sat at a table with two blank cards in hand and a number of old friends from his squad joining him in their weekly game of cards. It was nice to be back aboard the I.M.C. _Solaris_ again, it had been through many battles and despite not being a proper warship it had always come out on top thanks to its dedicated crew and valiant forces fighting on the ground. The rec-room was still lively as ever. Pilots and Grunts in a drinking contest with onlookers putting money on which would last longest, darts between comrades with a rather tense rivalry and debate between caffeine and tea, stories from the battlefield both humorous and dramatic, one table even had a tower of blocks as the team playing them got a bit _too_ enthusiastic and into it as they tried to build it higher and higher without it collapsing. Life was… peaceful, even if they had just come back from deployment. Just like old times.

The air had the slightest scent of smoke and alcohol, Alan never liked it to begin with, but eventually it came to remind him of home, even if 'home' was a fleet carrier for the I.M.C.'s armed forces.

Alan grinned as he watched the rest of his team eye one another and him in trying to deduce what hand they had, but naturally no one had a real clue about what everyone had. No one said a word, filling the space between them with tension as the pot was a lucrative one and no one wanted to slip up at the last second, typical of some of their games. "So, we being deployed to the Yuma system to defend Victor's fuel depots?" Alan asked, waiting for his turn to make a play. He got no reply. "I heard the Militia are running on fumes and might make a gamble there, think it'll be the end of the war?" He asked another question, again with a worrying lack of response. "Hello?"

Not a word. Now an eerie silence filled the room, no chatter, no glass bottles clanking against one another, nothing but footsteps approaching his table. "What are you doing here?" A woman asked, standing above him with a disappointed look on her face.

"K-Katherine?" Alan stuttered before being pulled to his feet.

"Didn't I say you should be getting better?" She questioned, reminding Alan of what she told him to do.

"I feel fine, now give me back…" Alan stopped himself when he heard what he was going to say. His eyes looked around the room and found everyone looking to him, some with drinks raised, others with cheerful smiles, "My gun…" He finished, suddenly feeling a slight, irregular pain in his chest at the mere sight of them all. He remembered how they were all taken in an instant, no dramatic exit, no heroic last stand or final fight, death had claimed them just like that, without warning, without pause, and without a farewell.

Alan gripped his chest from a sudden shock of pain, letting out a little gasp from his palpitating heart, but Katherine was still looking to him with a warm smile and an outstretched hand with his old, worn pistol waiting to be taken.

He missed them, he missed them all so much, it was a hole in him that he could not fill. He didn't want to let them go, he still had so much more to say and talk about, so much more work to do together. Alan looked back at the table he sat at and found that his squad was no longer there for they were replaced with Katherine's own team which hit him even harder knowing that they had either died or left him to join the very people that ruined his simple, innocent life in the core worlds. It was such a bitter feeling, but he had to stand against them and the rest of the Militia for all the horrors they brought.

His hand hesitated as his hand reached for his weapon. He consciously put effort in pulling himself back, but something inside him kept him moving forward, inch by inch. The promises he made, the catastrophic battles he had endured, the people that counted on him and he had failed, Alan did not deserve to continue, he had tried so much, but had achieved so little. He could help win every battle yet still he was on the losing side of the war, he had fought and killed his greatest foe, and still his foe got the last laugh, he had rescued dozens of refugees trying to escape a doomed city, even going so far as sacrificing himself to buy them time, _and still _they were surrounded gunned down.

Yet he lived. Lived to see his great accomplishments, become his greatest failures.

Another pain in his chest that Alan gripped tighter, now with both hands and enough pain to bring him to his knees. Those around him were looking directly at him, their eyes and expressions telling, encouraging him to take the side-arm, but he did not see the point. He didn't want to leave everyone else here.

But he had to. For the sake of the core worlds, for the sake of those he had left.

Katherine still held the gun out in front of her, soft smile and gentle eyes still waiting for Alan's answer. When he looked upon her, he could almost see her silently begging him to take it from her.

He stood up again. Would he really want to let the sacrifices of everyone on this ship to be in vain? After everything they did to fight with him, save him, rescue him, would he really throw it all away?

No.

He would miss them, painfully so, but all their memories, all their efforts were now behind him ready to support him, and he would not let their struggle, their fight, their sacrifice be tossed aside.

So, with his last ounce of courage and determination, fighting against the side of him telling him to call it quits, Alan strode a step closer. His memories recalled the amount of death he witnessed, the brutality the Militia showed the populace of the Frontier, but he stepped closer. There were the new Militia elites he had to deal with, Pilots that would tear apart the outnumbered I.M.C. forces who's only saving grace were their robotics. Did he really have the strength to fight them? He did not know, but that did not matter, for he took another. Step. Closer.

Now, it was him forcing himself to push forward, and his fear holding him back, but despite the feeling of overwhelming dread he felt when thinking about how many Militia Pilots would want him dead, he put a hand on the gun, and looked up to Katherine one last time. He desperately wanted her to tell him to let go, but he already knew what his decision was even if she had said it. "Yeah, you did." Alan said as he forced a smile, "I'll get better, I promise." He finished as he reclaimed the gun from Katherine's hands. He still had a war to fight, and most importantly he had a promise to keep.

Alan's vision slowly grew to a blinding white as the traces of those around him faded, the last of which being the faces Katherine and all the others who had served with him. He thought he heard a few delighted cheers and whistles and some clapping, familiar voices and laughs that filled him with a painful joy, but that might have just been the wishful dreaming…

* * *

**A.N.: Thanks for waiting!**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	12. Chapter 12: Getting Up Again

"Getting Up Again"

Alan jolted awake in a sweat with anxious breaths trying to ease his mind and body. He found himself in a dark room with the only light being from a nearby lamp placed on the nightstand next to his rather soft bed. There were only a handful of things that hinted at where he was if it were not obvious enough: Blood pack dangling above him slowly feeding his body with a fresh supply to replace that which was lost, a simple heartrate monitor make a gentle yet high-pitched 'beep' following the rhythm of his heart as it slowed back down to normal, and of course, the heavy stench of disinfectant that was somewhat masked by a vase of flowers on the opposite end of the room.

His body ached, his leg stung, and the shivering cold along with the sharp, stabbing pain in his sides stopped him from crawling out of bed. Alan's eyes were still a little heavy, but he could not find comfort in sleep any longer nor did he feel tired enough after sleeping for who knows how long.

So, he waited, lost in thought and recapping the recent events. He could not remember much to begin with, but slowly, the sight of his bandaged wounds was enough to send his heart racing again.

There he was again, surrounded with his back against the edge of a steep drop, ears ringing with nothing but the crackling of fire and the crunching of metal, smelling smoke and the blood. It was already enough to gently deafen his mind to normal thoughts as the image of a Pilot clad in newly designed, blackened armor. The dark maroon details barely registered through his mind, but the color would not matter anyways for it did change who it was that wore it.

The rubble, the blood, the cries, all came flooding back to him again. He needed answers, he needed to know, know that his supposed death was not in vain. That the lives he and the others had willingly sacrificed to give others a second chance, was not pointless.

Damn the pain, damn bag of blood with a needle in his arm, he needed to know. So, with a grunt of agonizing pain, Alan rolled out of bed and collapsed to the floor, catching himself with his two woefully weak and trembling arms. He hoped, begged, pleaded to be given something to smile about, going so far as to refuse the answer his memories gave him when they reminded him of the Spectres that flooded the underground.

Ignoring those thoughts, Alan pulled himself up to stand on his one good leg and pushed aside the sliding door that got in his way. Opposite of him were the windows with the sun starting to fall back over the horizon, but was still bright enough to make the Pilot shield his eyes. The halls were dark, but not without a little traffic, and an unfortunate nurse passing by at the wrong time was the target of a desperate Pilot.

Quite literally unable to stop himself from stumbling over his own feet, Alan practically collided with the nurse as he tried to hold himself. Unfortunately, the attempt ended with the young woman in scrubs clutching a data pad close to her chest as she looked up at him with eyes filled with a mixture of shock and a bit of fear.

"Where are they?" Alan questioned the woman whom had no clue as to what he was asking. "New Veleska. Did anyone else get out?" He asked again, this time it came out a little sloppily as most of his energy had already been used up in just getting outside of his room.

Of course, there was no response. Instead of it, Alan was pulled off of the nurse by two newcomers. He could not protest or resist their pull but another woman, one of the two medical staff grabbing either side of him, whispered to him in a calm, reassuring voice that almost lulled him to sleep. Words such as, 'You're alright,' and, 'You're safe, so rest', were almost enough to calm him had it not been for the painful memories of that ruined bridge he fought on. Each time he envisioned it, his wounds throbbed as if they were freshly opened, and perhaps they were thanks to his carelessness, but the most painful feeling was not from some physical wound which would ultimately heal. No, it was in knowing that the men who fought alongside him to their bitter end died believing they had bought enough time for the evacuees to escape, that despite his and their best efforts, it all meant _nothing_.

They had failed.

Without being able to utter another word, Alan was made comfortable again in his medical bed. There was a little prick in his left arm, maybe some pain killers to dull the stinging, but Alan was not paying much attention and eventually dozed off.

\- ( o ) -

When he awoke again, Alan felt a lot calmer. Whether it was through the drugs or putting himself down, the Pilot woke up without saying a word or even a jolt. He simply opened his eyes and stared blankly in front of him.

A blinking light caught his attention. It was his helmet telling him that he had a message waiting to be opened so he reached for it and put it over his head. It might not have been the most practical way of delivering a message, but it was the most direct way to contact him, but the only one who would probably care enough for a personal message would be…

_"Hey, Alan, I… I Just heard the news." _A recording of Vanessa's voice said, sounding a little distraught. Alan's eyes were immediately drawn to seeing her again, but it was disheartening to see her feigning some semblance of strength upon hearing of his demise, _"I'm… sorry I can't come and see you while you recover, but you know, can't really leave my post when the enemy is within breathing distance, now can I?" _She said with a forced chuckle, _"Anyways, your Titan was returned to us, just thought you'd want to know, also your older Stryder is doing wonders with repairs and keeping things together. Well, I better get back to work, so, hurry up and come back soon, ok?"_

The message shut off and stored itself away. At the very least, hearing and seeing her again had Alan attempting to smile, but the weight of his crushing defeat quickly put him back in his place.

Alan took the time to let the comforting message sink in, but minutes later a man wearing a damp uniform that was worn, its colors somewhat faded- not that it mattered considering the I.M.C.'s already light color scheme- and with plenty of would-be tears that were sewn back together. The armor was… suitable to say the least though it was clear that it had seen some use and taken a few beatings here and there, but the Pilot-

"And I heard that you lived!" Dominic announced, looking slightly high off the last drops of adrenaline from a battle he no doubt returned from, "I knew it'd be worth it!" He finished.

"'Worth it'?" Alan repeated, turning his head to face the man whom grabbed a chair from the corner and took a seat.

"Was on the way to New Veleska to reinforce the garrison when we heard it got hit, but…" He said pausing to let Alan brace for the news, "By the time we got in range of the city, it was already rubble and the garrison had ceased communication. However, we did pick up an emergency transponder. _Your_ transponder. Good thing we got there in time; Militia looked like they were searching for your body."

That reminded Alan of the incident again, "Did… Did you find anyone else? Was there anyone else escaping the city?"

Dominic's smile turned to a frown, "I'm sorry, you were all we found." He bluntly answered, hunched forward and straightforward with his serious response.

Alan sunk into his bed, his fears realized and his questions answered. It really was pointless wasn't it?

"Hey," The older Pilot said, putting a hand on Alan's shoulder to get his attention, "You and the others fought for the innocent with your dying breaths. You did your best, _knowing_ where it might get you."

"Well, my best wasn't good enough then, was it?"

Dominic lightly hit Alan in the shoulder before having his hand return to his lap, "It's not heroes that win wars, brilliant minds and talented individuals can shape it, but ultimately, it's the Grunts holding the line, the engineers building and repairing equipment, and the people who are willing to support it. It's just regular people doing their best the only way they know how. Pilots like you and me? We're no different, doing our best to do what we do best!"

"Yeah, yeah, thanks for the pep talk. Now, why are you here?" Alan asked the other Pilot, curious about his intentions. He still could not get over his loss, but at the very least the words took his mind off it for now.

"Well, it's been a few days since you were rushed here so, since you're gonna' be stuck here for at least another week or two, I would show you the ropes on performing better in the field! Though if I'm not here I'll get one of my friends and squad mates to come and help you in my stead." Dominic told Alan, getting up from his seat and starting toward the door.

"I don't think I'm in any condition move my body around much… Wait, days?" Alan said in slight surprise. If he had been out for days, it would explain the soreness, and the fresh bandages with minimal sign of blood, though he was still a bit worried about his ribs. The field of medicine was and still is outstanding, a small crack or fracture would be like a small bruise with the technology they had, but Alan never got told about his status and health.

"Non-sense! We've got the simulators; worst case scenario is that you simply need to be wheelchaired over there and be helped in a pod. In fact, why don't we go and get started?" Dominic rebutted, ignoring the query about Alan being out for days.

After around an hour of dealing with the medical staff looking a little less than pleased to see one of their still injured patients being taken by some upbeat Pilot, and snagging a sim-pod before it got taken, Alan was carefully placed inside one of the pods while Dominic flicked a few switches and pressed a set of buttons to initialize the pod for training.

"Don't worry, we won't do anything too chaotic, just some tests at first. Ya' good?" Dominic asked, but Alan could only respond with a thumbs-up right as the pod doors shut closed.

"User Identification confirmed, welcome Pilot. Standby." The pods OS said.

Alan took a deep breath and closed his eyes while the pod scanned him. It was a good thing his arms were still good or else this 'training' would be over before it began. When his eyes opened up again, he found himself in a small, circular arena with nothing but dirt beneath him. The sky above was cloudy and dark, almost as if a storm was on the horizon while rays of light just barely peeked through the slivers between the clouds. The arena's concrete walls were dirty and battle-scarred, though it was just for looks and immersion if anything.

_"Well, hand to hand combat is out of the picture for now 'just in case', so let's just start with some Titan stuff and work our way up from there." _Dominic announced, his voice booming from speakers above the arena. _"Alright, so I'll need a chassis and a loadout. What's assigned to you?"_

"Stryder, Brute-variant." Alan stated.

_"You poor, poor soul. Did you really choose that? You know how cheap those things are?" _Dominic began, _"I mean, a Titan is a Titan, but a Brute? Those were designed specifically to fill rank and bolster numbers, right?"_

"It was the only option they gave me, that and the rest of the factory collapsed in on itself. So, it was quite _literally_ the only option." Alan explained, remember the cold chill of the frozen ice ball where he first met his new Titan, "Can we get on with this?"

_"Aye, Standby for Titanfall."_

Seconds later, a hurling meteorite fire and metal came crashing down not too far away from Alan. The rather delicate looking Stryder immediately stood to attention and walked over to scoop him up from the ground. "Weapon systems, check. Defensive capabilities, check. Alright, green on this end." Alan informed.

_"Good, good. Just, one more question. Have you encountered a Vanguard before? Or if not, then an S.R.S. Pilot?"_

"'The hell's a 'Vanguard'?" Alan asked, not recalling the name nor model while training with Evi back on the _Miss Fortune_.

_"Dangerous Militia model. About twice your Stryder's weight, and it has the firepower to prove it. I'm going to assume that's a 'no' for the S.R.S. Pilot, that's fine, I'll get you informed later. Just know that 1: an S.R.S. Pilot is a deadly foe, the Militia's _Elite _Pilots. And 2: _Never_ underestimate a Vanguard even without its Pilot, it has a proper AI, not one of those assault chips that are normally used. Hope you never meet them."_

"Noted."

_"Good, let's start off with a simple Tone for now. Match begin, incoming hostile Titanfall!"_

* * *

**A.N.:**

**To Shy911 - And a wonderful thank you for reading!**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	13. Chapter 13: Relief and Stress

"Relief and Stress"

"You alright? You haven't looked too good since the Militia took Rolovak yesterday." A passing grunt commented to another man walking with him while Alan and Dominic were in the middle of a sparring match.

"My place isn't too far from there." The other man answered.

"Oh, sorry, didn't realize it was that close."

"Don't worry about it, command will do something I'm sure, if not…" The other man's voice became quiet as the two disappeared through a set of doors.

It had been a solid week of gloom for the I.M.C. and their supporters; it was a week of loss after loss with cities leveled and their garrisons swiftly devastated. When Militia reinforcements arrived, it almost broke the will of the remaining I.M.C. troops as their enemy arrived with brand new ships, shiny new armor, and crude but effective homegrown weapons.

"Pay attention!" Dominic pulled Alan from his train of thought via a swift take down and pinning the younger Pilot to the ground with a rubber knife to his neck.

"Sorry," Alan apologized, "Was just thinking."

Dominic grabbed Alan by the arm and helped him up, "That could get you killed in combat if you're not careful or quick."

"Yeah, but are we just going to throw bodies at the grinder and hope it works or are we actually going to do something?" Alan asked, rubbing his side before returning to an offensive stance.

"I'm sure there's something being planned, but until then all we can do is dig in and defend. Sadly, the Militia are as cunning as they are fervent to their cause meaning our conventional strategies are often outplayed by one reason or another." Dominic answered, waiting for Alan to start again.

When Alan's first throw came, the match ended quick. In one swift motion he had his arm and shoulder grabbed and using his own momentum against him, Dominic sent Alan back to the rough ground with his fall barely softened up with mats. This time it was for good.

"You've can good strength; I'll give you that." The older Pilot complimented, "But, none of that matters if you're out of breath. How's the rib?"

"I'm gonna' need a minute." Alan said as he laid with outstretched arms, catching his breath, "Doc says that it's fine, but I'll probably be sore for about another week."

"Good to hear." Dominic said as he pulled Alan up again, "We'll just call it there for the day, I've got to get going soon."

"For what?" Alan asked between breaths.

"Just some… 'Counter Intelligence'. The rest is classified." The other man said to which Alan gave a curious look. He was pretty sure Zoe had told him something similar back on Cillia, could that ice ball of a world and this mission be related somehow? Alan wasn't sure, but decided to push the matter aside rather than delve deep into self-imagined plots.

After a quick farewell, the two parted ways. While the older Pilot left without much of a scratch on him, Alan was exhausted from the one-sided fight. He begrudgingly had to accept the defeat, but he went over the match in his head again and again. Every move, every stance, Alan even went so far as to look back at himself and maybe see if it was _him_ that made an error in his movements. Surely it wasn't simply sitting back on the defensive and playing a game of attrition, was it?

Regardless, the Pilot returned to his cramped, box room that was so 'generously' assigned to him after being discharged from the luxurious comforts of the medical bay. Inside was nothing he wasn't used to: a bed just large enough for him, a desk to sit at, and a dresser holding absolutely nothing but a spare uniform within it. At least it didn't smell like someone spilled a gallon of rubbing alcohol and mopped the floors with it though.

The day continued seemingly like normal, quick shower, mediocre tasting food, the usual, but there seemed to be a noticeable lack of military personnel on station. Sure, Alan had seen a number of squads off to be deployed somewhere along the frontlines, but he figured that others would be rotated back to the base whether it was through being wounded or just generally fatigued. However, day by day, the population of the base dwindled until the number of non-combat personnel started to equal or even outnumber security and regular troops combined.

While wandering through the halls looking for something to do or just pass the time, Alan started to wonder just what command was up to. Even though this place was rather far behind the frontlines, leaving it this vulnerable to attack was… suspicious to say the least. Perhaps he was simply being paranoid, but in any case, he decided to keep his equipment and helmet at the ready for fear of the worst. Fortunately, though, those fears would be put to rest when a security officer approaching him looked up from his data pad and asked a question, "You Alan Stassov?"

"Yeah?" The Pilot answered.

"Get your stuff, and head to the landing pads."

Alan looked down and inspected his uniform and equipment, the armor was cleaned and polished, the uniform underneath replaced, and it was all he had. He put a hand to his pistol on his leg to make a quick check that he had not left it behind, "Guess this is all my stuff." Alan told the other man.

"Right, then head on down. There will be someone else to guide you when you arrive."

Alan did as he was told, heading toward the dropship landing pads through empty halls and rooms that were devoid of much life, but outside there was a large gathering of grunts and the remaining Pilots on station. Had he missed something? He wasn't aware of any orders for redeployment or a full-scale withdraw from the planet. The Pilot passed by a few grunts armed to the teeth with supplies and loading new equipment into their dropships so he doubted this was a general withdraw, especially with the rest of the base's staff staying behind.

Far in the corner was a single Goblin without any lines of grunts or ammunition and other supplies shoveled into its back. In the chaos of getting organized, Alan was directed to that very ship by a logistics officer rushing from one end of the line of ships to the other. Alan was going to ask what was going on, but the officer left after Alan was told which ship was his.

The troops and ground crew seemed to be in a rush, as soon as one dropship left, another one was ready to take its place not long later. The I.M.C. was definitely preparing for something big.

"'Alan Stassov' I presume?" The Goblin pilot asked over hum of engines warming up for a quick takeoff. Alan nodded and was welcomed aboard the empty dropship, "Welcome back to the fight, Pilot." The pilot said with a firm handshake.

Alan found a seat and road along with the rest of the day that had been going by a little too quickly for his liking, but when the Goblin took off and jumped into orbit, it was all worth it to see the majestic blue world below him guarded by the fleet of I.M.C. ships he was headed too. However, it was heartbreaking to see Bruvious IV's once green and golden fields were now burning from Militia raids and their scorched earth tactics.

From the looks of it, he was not the only one arriving either as there were dozens of ships traveling to and from the battle-scarred fleet. The larger hulks and pieces of debris from the wreckages and hulls of fallen vessels were being picked apart and repurposed, their parts and plating used for major repairs, structural reinforcement, and whatever else the fleet's mechanics and engineers thought could be useful to bolster integrity.

Toward the flank of the fleet formation, the _Miss Fortune_ bore its guns in a threatening manner to ward off whatever small reconnaissance craft daring to get information on the I.M.C.'s security fleet. Though she was not as large nor as heavily armed as the I.M.C.'s dedicated warships, she was still a beautiful yet frightening sight to behold.

Finally, the Goblin landed without incident. Alan, still standing with a grip on one of the dangling handles above him, waited for the doors to hiss open and then he took in the familiar sights. He couldn't say it earned the distinction of 'home' just yet, but it was good enough for him. The Goblin's pilot left the ship to join in a conversation with his own companions that called out for him, but Alan was fine with being alone for now; until the _Miss Fortune's_ commander waved a hello and beckoned for the Pilot to come over.

With a fast pace to his steps, Alan closed he distance between the two of them and for his efforts he was greeted with a small smile supporting dark eyes showing a clear lack of sleep but still filled to the brim with joy and warmth.

"Welcome back." Vanessa greeted. Her quickly rose to extend out to Alan but she balled her hand into a fist and held herself back, instead opting to play off the gesture and staying professional by fixing her dark grey naval uniform, "Sleep well?"

"Still a bit sore." Alan began, "Beds were better, food was better, and I didn't have a hawk keeping an eye on me." He finished listing off with three of his fingers.

"So, you did miss me." The woman stated with an amused smirk, shifting her weight to one leg and crossing her arms.

"Perhaps." Alan said, following the woman when she turned on her heel and started out of the hangar area. The two walked side-by-side catching up on what's new about the war below and in orbit. The I.M.C. fleet thwarted a small offensive by the Militia's rag-tag collection of converted merchant ships, but the war on the ground has been a losing one. "Are you alright?" Alan asked, "Don't tell me you've been losing too much sleep over this operation."

"No need to worry about me, you were the one on death's bed." Vanessa countered, "Besides, I need every waking moment dedicated to command and organization. I don't want a single mistake so long as I can help it."

"That kind of thinking is what _makes_ mistakes."

"I disagree, but nonetheless, this is our maiden voyage and I shall see to it that this ship returns with an outstanding performance record and newly experienced crew." She argued. There was no going against her, when Vanessa made up her mind, the decision was more often than not final.

Both of them had much more catching up to do, but first, was to find a place to relax for the approaching storm. The mess hall was too crowded and too loud for casual conversation, the bridge too connected to work and the stress of command, but there was comfort in the privacy of personal quarters. The only difference this time being Vanessa was the one laid back on her own bed with a simple drink smelling like tea, while Alan had to pull in her chair from her office connected to and separating her personal quarters from the rest of the ship.

Vanessa took a deep breath, "Alan, Alan, Alan… Just what am I going to do with you?"

"Pardon?" The aforementioned Pilot inquired.

"You just got back, but now I have to send you back out in approximately twenty-four hours." She answered, taking a sip of her drink as let her eyes close for some rest that they desperately called out for, "That's not even to mention the fact that you seem to always attract the unnecessary risk of death. One of these days you're going to clash with someone who's luckier or more stubborn than you, and personally I can't imagine seeing you zipped up in a body bag."

"Forgive me for asking, but where is this all coming from?"

"Doesn't matter, either way, you aren't the one on edge after receiving report after report about you and don't even get me started about how much it-" She caught herself and thought of more 'suitable' words to say, "_Frustrates_ me when you nonchalantly walk off all those wounds and near-death experiences like it was nothing to bat an eye at."

"Sorry to make you worry then." Alan apologized, "Should I make it up to you?"

"Yes, in a bit, but I digress, I get that its 'part of the job' like you said, and that promptly brings us to a debriefing on your next assignment." She began, clearing her throat and setting her drink on the nightstand beside her, "As you've probably already seen, our forces are mobilizing and they are gathering to try and goad the Militia into doing the same. Assuming they follow suit, we open a small hole, let the Militia see it and take the bait with the new numbers they would have gathered, then we immediately cut them off and encircle them. This will be followed by a massive air-superiority operation to deny them evac, an orbital engagement to deny supplies and reinforcements, and finally, from this string of defeats, a crushing victory." She explained with a slight quietness to her voice, "As for your role, you will serve as the 'knife' of the operation and deploy with a number of other Pilots, your Titans, and any elite troops we can spare to severe the Militia's supply line back to their territory. They may be ferocious and dedicated to their cause, but if the people see how carelessly the Militia threw away tens if not hundreds of thousands of lives here, their very foundation will start to crumble." She finished with a rather intimidating and sinister expression on her face. Seeing this, Alan decided to keep himself quiet about it…

"You should've probably saved the debrief for the rest of the crew." Alan suggested, doing his best to ignore her look.

Vanessa gave him a frown. "Shut my door, would you?" She asked. Alan did as was requested, wondering what exactly she had planned.

"Something wrong?" He asked.

With a stern and serious gaze, she sat up from her comfy spot on her bed and looked Alan in the eye, "They do not need to know, only follow orders." She began, "As for why, the command staff and a number of officers, including myself, have looked into our string of losses and found that it was no mere case of bad luck or poor strategy. They knew our numbers, locations, our movements, even some of our battleplans and with our previous experience with enemy infiltrators, I have personally concluded that we don't just have a simple spy among us. No, there _is_ a traitor among our ranks."

* * *

**A.N.: N/A  
**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	14. Chapter 14: Operation Enclosing Walls

"Operation Enclosing Walls"

Not a soul was told anything except for their area of operation, and no officer in the whole fleet spoke about the upcoming operation in whole. There were a number of questions, dissent and fear grew from the lack of information, and some even spoke out against being sent on a 'suicide mission' in the thickest parts of enemy territory, but they would follow orders through the muttering complaints and outspoken cries of protest. Fortunately, the veterans of the whole campaign had stayed quiet on the matter, likely already piecing together what they knew to get some idea of their superiors' thinking, but the heart of the problem came from the disgruntled recruits and new arrivals that had expected to have strategy spoon-fed to them.

'_They do not need to know, only follow orders.' _That's what Vanessa had told Alan. Whatever her reason to tell him, be it simple trust from their time together or some other, secretive plan that involved him, he wasn't too sure, but opted to believe in the former.

Damn the Militia and their honeysweet words of lies, they always swayed and seduced the hearts of the Frontier, they always shielded their deeds with talks of 'freedom'. He was tired of constantly thinking about it, but it always managed to sneak in through a tiny crack be it just the mention of the terrorist organization or when seeing it corrupt those who were willing to listen first hand.

Alan took a deep breath to clear his mind, think, and plan his next course of action while on his way to engineering. He needed to requisition his new equipment if it was available, train and find a way to compensate for the still mildly throbbing pain in his side, and he had to prepare himself and his comparatively cheap and weak Titan for an onslaught that could very well kill him.

Nothing new there.

The halls of the _Miss Fortune_ were full of life with crew members preparing for the 'mystery op' given to them while announcements from junior officers dictated where the crews were supposed to be. Alan was rather surprised, but glad, to see the ship's personnel had not sat idly while he was out of action. There were fewer crewmen getting worked up and panicked at the thought of space warfare, orders and requests were repeated less often, and the paranoid engineers worked tirelessly to patch every single crack and scratch they could reach as if it would burst open and vent the whole interior; to their credit, that was not entirely impossible either.

The Pilot had received a few looks of shock from onlookers or they moved out of his way on his trek to check on his Titan. Alan attributed it to the fact that he was supposedly dead, but maybe they knew about him, either way it made the journey all the quicker as he eventually made his way into the Titan bay where he found it far more organized than when he left it. Spare parts, equipment, and tools were all neatly set aside to give generous room for the Titan housed within it and then some.

"P-Pilot- I mean, 'Sir'! We just received her last week, paints been worn down, rockets are restocked, and her internal structure has been hammered back into shape and repaired." Said an engineer joining Alan's side as he continued toward the aforementioned mech. "Is there anything else you need, sir?" The engineer asked.

"Give it another fresh coat, I want her to be presentable." Alan instructed. The place smelled of oil, grease, and a whole lot of sweat in part due to the hot, humid, stuffy air and of course the hard work and dedication of the engineers scrambling to get things fixed right away. Sparks flew as the engineers were welding and breaking apart salvaged scrap to be used elsewhere, the lights seemed like they were a dull orange, illuminating the place like it was a blacksmith's furnace, and finally, large cranes were being operated to hoist some of the large parts that were too either far too heavy or too large for simple work on the ground. The Pilot never could get used to place, nor would he want to…

"Aye, sir." The engineer then acknowledged before jogging off to do some other work.

Finally, Alan was left to see his Titan who looked down at him with its optics. "Welcome back, Pilot, I had begun to suspect you were lost." Evi said from her crouched position in what could be described as a 'storage rack'.

"You know, for an 'expendable' model, you seem rather talkative." Alan pointed out as he ordered her canopy to open up so he could pull himself inside.

"I am designed to give my designated Pilot a sense of companionship to the best of my programing. Statistics and research reports indicate a substantial increase in performance by- "

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I figured the I.M.C. would do away with such programming after the first generation of Titans." Alan said. Speaking of outdated Titans, he has yet to meet with Evi's predecessor, Anya, but between being stuck on the surface and thrown into one live-combat or simulation scenario, there was simply no time. Anya wouldn't mind, she had survived plenty of encounters with her would-be destruction, protected him, fought with him, overcame countless overwhelming battles and now, hearing that she was being put to work as a glorified cargo loader was almost fitting, like an old veteran finally returning home from a war. Ironically, his old Titan went back to being what they were originally designed for: difficult labor, and Alan was more than welcoming of the change now that the 1st generation Titan models were a rarity. "Lock gyros for possible further maintenance and bring up everything the I.M.C. databanks have on the state of the Militia. Weapons, ships, battle history, mercenaries, even leadership if there anyone new. I want to know who our former, 'noble Vice Admiral', assigned to the surface below." Alan stated, thinking back to the Militia Pilot, Reidar, that had 'killed' him. That armor on both him and his Titan as black as coal, the dark maroon mesh and details, it was the same colors as the pirate gang leader he had killed back when they were still on the run. Surely this color scheme was nothing more than a coincidence, right? Either way, Alan needed to know who he was up against.

"Affirmative, Pilot. Pilot, my scans indicate a potentially problematic wound, in addition, I sense a rising sense of hostility. May I inquire?" She asked so innocently and politely.

"Negative." Alan was quick to deny. He'd be fine for the time being, the only thing he needed to watch out for was putting too much pressure on his still injured rib which didn't seem particularly difficult given the mission in front of him.

"As you wish, Pilot. Accessing files, now." She complied, bringing up file after file, from articles, to documented research. Home designed carriers, new rifles, even that curious 'Vanguard' Titan, the Militia wasn't just a stubborn little terrorist group anymore was it? It was a now an independent alliance dedicated to their hatred for the I.M.C. and the goal to push them out of the Frontier, but such an alliance, especially among these criminals, slavers, and worse, was fragile at best.

Sadly, Alan could not do anything significant alone, he knew that.

A headline mentioning 'Reidar' caught Alan's eye, so he pulled it to the front, "_Reidar 'The Bear' Claussen claims another victory for the Frontier!'_" Alan read the headline, "Evi, give me all the information about this man."

"Affirmative. Subject: Reidar Claussen. Date of birth: Unknown. Location of Birth: Unknown. History: Unknown. Last seen: Kraken System. Current Location: -"

"Bruvious IV." Alan interrupted.

"Updating." Evi said before continuing, "Status: This individual was known to be affiliated with a pirate gang that was dissolved following the operations of the Remnant fleet in the Kraken system. Currently, this individual is suspected to be either under the command or contracted by the Militia organization. Further information is unknown."

"Damn, it's never that simple is it?" Alan asked himself as he tossed aside the articles and documents about the Militia Pilot. Just then, he had an idea, Alan called over the engineer he had just talked to, "Actually," He began, "I do have an addition you could add if you have the time."

-(o)-

The alarms echoed throughout the halls, but the muffled ringing barely reached his ears from inside his Titan. He checked his equipment one last time to ensure he had what was available. He had a brand-new pulse blade to replace the one he lost, a pair of electric smokes with him, two full pistol clips were secured in the pouches on his chest, and of course there was his standard armor covering his whole torso, lower legs, shoulders, and obviously his helmet. Now that he thought about it, he hasn't really seen any new armor he heard the I.M.C. had rolled out for its new Pilots, but if was anything like these new Titans it was probably just a downgrade and simplification.

"Pilot, Commander has given the order for us to load into a drop pod, please do not try to exit this Titan." Evi said to her user, "Sealing Pilot."

It was one of the few times he had ever deployed _with_ his Titan, never got comfortable with it but orders were orders.

_"Welcome back to the land of the living, Alan." _Naomi said over comms, _"Just like before, I'll be keeping an eye from up here and offer tactical intel for you and the rest of your squad. Your current orders: Rendezvous with Strike Force 'Foxtrot' and hold a defensive line. Once you establish a landing zone, we will be able to deploy additional forces from 103__rd__ and the 99__th__ to give additional assistance."_

"What's the intel looking like so far?" Alan asked, testing the woman in seeing if she was in on the full plan.

_"The Militia appear to have broken through our lines and friendly forces are in desperate need for Titan support. Commander wants you and the rest of Foxtrot to stem the bleeding so additional forces can be deployed."_

"Roger, over and out." Alan acknowledged before cutting the transmission. Apparently even she was in the dark about the wider picture. "Evi, play nice with the other Titans when we meet them would you?"

"I do not understand your meaning, Pilot."

"I know you don't. Prepare for Titanfall." Alan stated and chuckled to himself as he clenched the arms of his seat with all his strength and held his breath. Seconds later he heard a 'beep' and then he was slingshot down and out of the _Miss Fortune_ and toward the burning surface below.

"Separation confirmed." Evi informed. For a few seconds, there was nothing but the rattling of the pod and Titan around him as well as the tingling feeling in Alan's gut from the freefall, "Stand by, approaching shock layer." She continued as the pod hit atmosphere. The pod around him grew hot and shook violently as the ground came closer and closer. The pod burst open and Alan could see the burning forests and scorched trees all around him, the smoke all but clouded the rest of the sky before Evi spoke again, "Impact in three, two, one, mark."

Alan and Evi crashed onto a road worn down from neglect and overuse, but below his Titans metal heels was a truck carrying crates of weapons and supplies. The Pilot's map told him he was not far from the rally point which was located at an occupied I.M.C. outpost in the east being used as a depot for Militia forces. He took in the scenery around him, the scattering and terrified Militia riflemen seeking cover, the transports and their escorts swiftly taken out by a rocket or two with the rest being crushed by his fist or foot, which left no one but infantry.

It was such a tragic sight, but nothing was sacred for the Militia. If the I.M.C. had it, if the I.M.C. owned it, if the I.M.C. supported it, the Militia wanted it to be destroyed. Seeing the please and cries of mother nature at this scale hit a string in Alan, he saw it from above, but being nearly engulfed in the fires? That was something new to him.

On the ground, a Militia Rifleman had tripped and dropped his weapon, but that was the least of his concern. He scrambled to crawl back as the silhouette of a Brute-Titan rose and towered over him. He was petrified at the mere sight of it. Through the glowing optics, through the Pilots helmet, the Rifleman could see the growing flames in the Pilot's eyes. He gave the Titan with a solid blue stripe down its center an empty look of defeat before closing his eyes, lying back in the dirt, and accepting his fate. Still, he prayed to be granted mercy from a bloody, messy, painful death. He thought maybe, if he prayed hard enough, his plea would be heard.

* * *

**A.N.: -**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	15. Chapter 15: The First Wave

"The First Wave"

During the hours of the day where the sun stood the tallest, the initial counter-offensive by the I.M.C. had begun. Far behind the frontlines, small strike teams formed pockets of stubborn resistance against the flood of Militia troops and convoys desperate to either escape the death trap, but slowly the damn was being built and maintained and slowly, the life-blood of the Militia's momentum was being squeezed out right in front of them.

One of the last targets on the I.M.C.'s hit list was a military outpost-turned-depot serving as just another crucial artery in the Militia's supply lines. Their fleet wouldn't be able to respond for another seven hours minimum however, that was all the time needed to wipe out their numbers in a colossal encirclement.

Still surrounded by embers and ashes left over from a heavy bombing campaign, Alan and his Titan marched toward their objective to create an encirclement of their own at the aforementioned occupied outpost. "Pilot, Outpost Sierra-9 is now in view, there has been no other contact with the rest of Strike Team Foxtrot." Evi explained to her user, "How do you wish to proceed?"

"Attempt to hail them one more time, we'll give them seven minutes maximum before we move out on our own." Alan instructed his Titan. To say the operation had a few hiccups was… an understatement. Miss drops, comms were a mess, enemy aircraft still contested the sky, if there was a mistake to be had, chances were that it had happened. Fortunately, organization was not lost and units had begun to dig in for the secondary phase of the operation, but they wouldn't be able to do so forever as the Militia were throwing its rear-guard at the problem to solve it. Alan supposed the Militia believed that they could slam their head against a wall and still come out on top which at the very least propped up an amusing image.

"There has not been any contact from Foxtrot." Evi told Alan after her timer was up, "Incoming transmission from the I.M.S. _Miss Fortune."_

_ "Ok, Pilot, listen close," _Naomi started as soon as he answered the call, _"We can't keep lines too clear since we're playing hot potato with the Militia trying to listen in on us, so our standard channels will have to suffice for now. In short, you have the go ahead for the current objective. Rendezvous will be slower, but everyone else will get there eventually for a debrief. Good luck down there! Over and out." _The woman cheered him on before ending her quick message.

Nothing ever goes smoothly does it?

"Evi, keep an eye on scanners, we're moving out." Alan ordered.

The Pilot and his Titan stalked through what remained of the trees and kept their sights on the concrete prize before them: A decently sized structure with walls surrounding it in the shape of a hexagon- what was left of it anyways. On each corner was an automated turret badly in need of repairs and out of commission until a proper team of mechanics could get to repairing them, the proud I.M.C. logo now were scrubbed away with a messy show of spray pair or debris, and it would have looked abandoned had it not been for the ant-sized heads peaking over the walls and patrolling the perimeter.

"Enemy forces appear aware and expecting an I.M.C. offensive, recommend using superior range to annihilate the enemy." Evi said to Alan.

"What, afraid of a little small arms fire? And here I thought second generation Titans had the superior armor." Alan said as he prepared himself for the coming battle.

"Negative, Pilot, however, without clear intelligence nor the view of the outpost's interior, it is unclear what threat may lie behind the walls. Encounter with larger models will hinder combat effectiveness and risk destruction." Evi told Alan. She had a point; he'd be lucky if he could survive against a something like a Legion one on one.

"Odds of survival should it be an Ogre?" The Pilot asked. Anything smaller and he could work with what he had, but against a fat Titan designed to take a beating _and _with effective defensive options? Doubtful.

"27% chance of this unit's survival. Forgive my lack of strong offensive abilities."

"Right. Well, if we just sit here then this whole op is just mute, so let's just charge through the front gate and wing it eh?" Alan finished, manually taking control of Evi.

He rose from the crouched position she had set herself in and made the first step forward. Pushing aside an ash covered tree, Alan made a dash forward toward the already crumbling walls of the outpost. There was a squad of grunts jumping out his way but a single rocket took care of them in a splash of fire and dirt. Without there being much of a challenge to stop him, the Pilot used his Titan equipment to jump into the air and carefully maneuver a hover over the walls and their defenders, kicking a pair of grunts off as he landed on the wall itself and fired salvos of missiles from his launcher onto the Militia infantry and their useless weapons. In his assault, Alan had fired upon a medium-sized Titan arising to the challenge of defending the outpost: A single Ion-class Titan.

Wanting to take advantage of his initiative, Alan dashed forward, crushing unfortunate souls under either his own Titan's feet or a sheet of rubble and rebar, and slamming a hard fist into the Ion's body that sent it stumbling back, but the Ion was quick to retaliate with small laser leaving a scorch mark in Evi's side. Assuming the simulations were realistic, he needed to keep on the offensive and use his weaponry sparingly else the missiles would just be thrown right back at him.

Alan fired two locked on missiles anyways, but as he expected they were grabbed right from the air and shot back via vortex shield. After that, the two played a dangerous game of ping-pong before Alan gave up on the endeavor and dodged the two projectiles. Constantly backing up, the Ion deployed a set of tripwires, but Alan was faster, capable of sneaking in closer before they dug into the concrete ground and came online, but their presence then sliced the arena down to a third.

The Militia Titan attempted to push Alan back onto the deadly trap but he escaped the punch's path and smashed Ion's hip joint with the back of his Titan's Quad Rocket Launcher. Five missiles to the back later, Alan shoved the unsteady Ion into its own trap, blowing off both an arm and a leg in the process. It was still operation, but there would be nowhere it could run and without weapons and its shield equipped arm, there was nothing it could do.

"Pilot, hull integrity at 58%, recommend retrieving battery from downed enemy before they self-destruct." Evi told Alan as the Pilot was laying down fire onto any riflemen that were taking a peek at the action. Without hesitation, Alan did as recommended, ordering Evi to provide him cover with her own chassis as he climbed out of his Titan.

The Pilot started tugging on the battery as he remembered, but then he looked up just in time to keep himself from receiving a roundhouse to the face, but a quick back kick sent Alan to the ground as the Militia Pilot, covered in scratches and a bit of blood, dropped from the wreckage of his Titan and continued the attack.

Alan quickly drew his Hammond but that too was kicked from his hand and with the Militia Pilot wielding a knife, there was little time to act. Alan used his grapple to latch onto the wreckage of the fallen Titan and pull himself between his foe's legs and picked himself up.

After drawing both his knife and his pulse blade, both readied themselves before giving a mutual nod. The Militia Pilot was the first to move, using his gear to leap higher into the air and deliver a kick to Alan's guard, but the I.M.C. Pilot returned the favor by stabbing the other man's leg.

_"Pilot, multiple friendly signatures incoming."_ Evi reported to Alan whom he had just shoved off of him. The rest of the fight was rather one sided with the injured leg, but Alan wasn't perfect in his defense, receiving a heavy fist to his side that stunned him. Thankfully it wasn't his already injured side, but it wouldn't have mattered either way. Regaining his focus, Alan dodged to the side from an incoming left hook and sliced through the side of his opponent with one blade while the other stabbed right through the heart. The Militia Pilot struggled to keep on his feet, leaning into Alan's arm for support as he slowly lost the strength in him with each breath. Alan, laid the man on his back and dropped to a knee to make himself comfortable. It wasn't until the Militia Pilot's final breath and when his hand that gripped Alan's sleeve let go did the I.M.C. Pilot pull the knife from the now lifeless body.

_"This is Foxtrot 1, Pilot Stassov, are you still in there?" _Alan heard a voice call out over radio. Of course they'd make him do all the work…

"Yeah, I copy Foxtrot 1." The Pilot acknowledged. He finished pulling out the battery from the fallen Ion and climbed back into Evi's protective shell. By the time he finished installing the new battery, a trio of new Titans entered the outpost and mopped up what was left of the defenders.

Two Tones and a Northstar, two were more or less shiny new while one of the Tones was riddled with scars and worn paint- Likely 'Foxtrot 1'.

"Welcome to the strike team Pilot. I'm Captain Schnell, these two are Barry and Katie, they may be mercenaries _and_ they may be relatively green, but I'm sure they can handle things on their own." The Captain introduced them respectively with their Titans. "Here's the sitrep," He continued, "We've got two more- friends of these two- encountering some difficulty in getting here, they'll regroup later. Right now, we'll be calling in for infantry support and refortifying this place for whatever these terrorists have to throw at us. Now secure a perimeter, reinforcements are coming in within the hour!"

\- ( o ) -

There weren't many ground troops to spare, but those who arrived did so without giving a second to rest. Immediately they pushed their supplies out of their ships and onto the ground so the Goblin dropships could depart just as quickly as they left, teams of engineers worked with what little time and resources they had to get the turrets operational again, but it was to no success. Holes were patched, mines were laid outside, and hastily put together barricades out of rock and rebar were all that stood between the outside world and the outpost's newly retaken interior.

While the defenses were being handled, Alan was waiting for the inevitable assault. He did this by sitting on a large piece of rubble eating an MRE packed with him while his Titan was on lookout not far from its owner. It seemed arbitrary; however, the Pilot knew better than to put it off until later, especially if the news reached overly concerned ears. Still, he knew what it was like to fight without any energy to spare: Headaches, anger, a growling stomach, and an unfocused mind. It was dangerous to say the least, but _someone_ wasn't having it.

A young and mostly inexperienced mercenary he made an example of some time ago…

"He's just sittin' on his ass doing nothing!" The young Pilot complained from his Tone who was _supposed_ to be lookout for the newly established defenders, but here he was being a bother once again. "Care to do something other than laze around."

"Get back in line, _Foxtrot-2_," Alan ordered, "You have a new job to do and I just finished _doing yours _by retaking the place. That's not to mention the fact you arrived last among your little troop of friends."

"You don't remember me?" The Pilot asked, getting out from his Titan.

Alan ignored him

"Answer me dammit!"

"Shut it down, Edwin," The Captain intervened, "You're a mercenary but that doesn't mean you're free to do what you want. Now get back to reconnaissance, boy!"

"Out of everyone on this damn planet I just had to be put together with you."

Alan scoffed.

"Oi if I wasn't under contract… When the Militia come, I'll be glad to see them tear you apart!" The mercenary finished with a threatening finger.

Alan finished off his little meal just in time to hear one of the Grunts on watch to yell over comms. The Militia were sending out their vanguard.

* * *

**A.N.: Thank you for your patience.**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	16. Chapter 16: The Final Pair

"The Final Pair"

The first shots rang out. This time, it was more than just another battle to be played out by both sides, it was a fight for survival, _their _survival. If the Militia failed, they would be wiped out to the last man and Titan, if even a single detachment of the I.M.C.'s forces failed, their daring troops deployed behind enemy lines would be surrounded and slaughtered by the very enemy they tried to encircle.

The air was thick with darkening clouds and smoke, anti-air guns and missiles deafened boomed back and forth against each other while metal crushed against metal as the first signs of mother nature's weeping fell onto mech and man alike. Overhead, Militia Hornets desperately tried to break the air superiority of the I.M.C.'s own Phantoms, but there were too few fighters for the insurgents to spare. One by one their air defenses were picked off by small strike teams, targeted by the Phantoms, or simply caught in the I.M.C. advance and turned on their former Militia owners.

"_Incoming wave, they're in standard breakthrough formation: Titans at the center, infantry at their flanks! We'll leave those mechs to you, Pilots, over and out!" _A grunt hailed over comms as the defenders on what was left of the walls opened up a wall of lead from any gun they could put up. Any defensive turret that could have been put to use were already worn out and empty of ammunition, rendering them useless, but that did not deter the infantry of the I.M.C. Marine Corp. from firing on the merciless Titans with what few heavy weapons they had available. Fortunately for them, they were not left alone to face the hulking, terrifying, and menacing Titans that showed no remorse for simple infantry forces. From the belly of the outpost ruins, six Titans bearing I.M.C. colors and insignias stood strong and at the ready against whatever the zealous Militia hordes were willing to throw at them.

"_Copy that, McCoy get on our northern flank, Terrell, on our south, let _no one_ get through," _Their commanding officer, Captain Schnell, ordered Edwin and Barry, each in their Tones, respectively, _"Ferguson," _He pointed to Mary's Ion Titan, _"You're with me at the front. Stassov, Goodwin," _He looked to Alan and Katie's Titans, _"I want artillery and sniper support, if any enemy Titan gets through, prioritize them. Get moving people, we've got a war to win!"_ The Captain finished.

The other Atlas-class Titans quickly left the confines of the outpost's crumbled walls leaving only Alan's Brute, and Katie's Northstar to help bolster the internal defenses. They were the smallest chassis of the group, so it was to be expected for them to hang back, but that did not make the job any less troubling. Alan wasn't sure about Katie's aim and abilities in close range combat, especially with a Northstar, but either way it would have to be him to do a bulk of the fighting should an enemy breach the compound. Now had it been before his transfer to ARES from the now wrecked I.M.S. _Solaris_, and if it was Sasha with him…

"_I know Ed's all heated up about working with you, but personally I don't see what's so special about you." _Katie said to Alan over comms.

"You and me both." Alan replied, "From what I've been told and heard, the Militia have me on a 'Wanted' list, and I also removed a _'major thorn' _in the I.M.C.'s side, a thorn that was an invaluable Militia Pilot."

"_Hah, I doubt they were _that_ tough, just do me a favor and don't block my shot!" _Katie joked, showing off her long-ranged railgun.

Alan ignored the slightly aggravating comment, "Doubt you'd hit much anyways. I worked with woman who was the best shot in our _whole_ _fleet_!" Alan said, remembering Sasha and her usually aloof and uncaring nature. He wondered where she got reassigned.

"_Meh, never heard of her, bet I could probably top her best."_ Katie gloated.

"Well, she did get 9 for 10, care to try 10 for 10?" Alan smirked from inside his Titan, half from reminiscing once again about the old days and the semi-drunken antics the other Pilots and grunts got into, half to egg Katie on with friendly banter.

"…_I'll take on that bet. When I win, you'll owe me!"_

"_If_ you win." Alan retorted before setting up his Titan for artillery support.

"_Alan, Katie, this is _Miss Fortune, _I will try and get spotters and have the others coordinate to highlight targets for the both of you, but be advised we are having some difficulties and even then, targets are only rough estimates. Caution is advised, careful not to hit friendlies down there!_" Naomi alerted the two support Titans.

"Copy, any intel on enemy counter-offensive?" Alan asked the woman as Katie charged up her weapon and rested it upon a wall for some additional stability.

"_Negative, so far we expect only enemy Pilots and Titans that were held in reserve, fortunately we are slowly advancing across most of our lines. Careful out there, over and out!" _She finished informing the two before cutting the comms.

By now, the rain began to heavily pour down on everyone below, the flames from devastating warfare were being extinguished, but now visibility dropped significantly, hindering the usual range capabilities of both sides, but for Alan, he simply angled his weapon in accordance to his map, and fired away after making some minor adjustments. Militia drop ships tried to break through the fighter screen of aggressive Phantom pilots, but none availed. They all went down one at a time and crashed into the ground some distance away leaving nothing but a smoldering wreck while the Militia forces trapped within the encirclement slowly saw their options scratched out one at a time.

"_Heads up, you've got a pair of Titans that slipped past us. Headed to outpost, over!" _Captain Schnell quickly informed over comms. From the sound of crunching metal and grunts, the Captain seemed to be fighting with every trick and tool he had to keep a bulwark of the Militia onslaught at bay.

Katie was first to spot the two approaching silhouettes of Titans, one small, the other medium. She took the first shot, and in an instant, there was a clean hole through the larger of the two and it went down. _"That one's yours." _She said to Alan.

The smaller Titan came into view: a Ronin with dull green and orange paint with its shotgun in hand. Alan took up his weapon and fired a rocket, and another, and another, and another. The first three were swiftly evaded, and the fourth one was two, but only by a shimmering of light and phasing out of Alan's sight. Seconds later, the Ronin reappeared and made a quick swipe with its sword, but Alan narrowly evaded the attack with a dash backwards. He locked on with two missiles and fired hitting the Stryder-variant, but in only pulled up its shotgun and open fired in four quick trigger pulls. Alan's shields were immediately brought down which forced him to go on the offensive. Kicking off the ground, Alan punched the Ronin and sent it stumbling back but it caught its balance. Unrelenting in his attack, Alan pressed forward once more but this time brought his own weapon up and fired a little too close that he expected, but the dangerously close rockets were enough to outright destroy the enemy Titan.

"_Hmph, fair enough."_ Katie commented after what was left of the Ronin's wreckage collapsed to the ground.

"Remember, those were just the scraps that got through." Alan reminded as Katie took another shot.

"_Be advised, we're detecting some major activity converging on your location. Looks like the Militia are trying to consolidate forces to put more pressure on you, over and out." _Naomi cautioned the two over comms again.

"_Looks like we'll be seeing some more action, neat." _Katie said to herself.

"I wouldn't be so sure." Alan warned, "Keep in mind, there's only six of us and we're already spread thin, we're up against dozens if not more still out there. If one of us goes down, its permanent, but for them, the at the very least have spares and reinforcements."

"_Oh, let them come, that just means we can go all out!"_

"That's what I'm worried about…" Alan muttered. He'd better keep some munitions in reserve just in case things get too out of hand…

Another pair got through, but this time Katie took care of one, damaged the other, and the grunts brought down the badly damaged Titan. _"That makes four-"_ She fired another shot, _"Scratch that, make that five!"_

Alan continued his artillery barrage with what missiles he could spare, but he as watched the number dwindled in front of him one digit at a time, he grew increasingly worried as there was no sign of stopping. "I'm empty, I can't provide any more support, over!" Alan broadcasted over friendly comms. He hoped it would be over by now, but the Militia just kept coming, Katie was having a hard time keeping the stragglers at bay, but the trickle eventually turned into a flood. _"Christ, they just keep coming!"_ She yelled.

"_Alan!" _The Pilot heard his name called out over comms, but it was not Naomi, nor was it anyone from the team, _it was Vanessa, "Northern- falli- hold- Being jam-"_

"_Miss Fortune_, do you copy? You're breaking up." Alan hailed, adjusting a few settings to try to boost comms.

"_Stassov- Off me!" _The Captain struggled to say,_ "You're in charge! Regroup! Sent Mary up north! _Don't let them through! _Come here you self-righteous son of-" _The line was cut, but in the distant was a sizeable explosion from an overloaded reactor. Panic started to besiege Alan's otherwise hardened mind and will on all sides as the comms and warning lights went off all around him. The lights, the alarms, the deafening thunder, the comms in chaos, when the noise hit him, it hit _hard_. Alan could barely think to himself as the horrified reports and chatter among the other posts and ground forces came in.

"_I'm picking up half a dozen new Titans signatures!"_

"_Are you reading this right? We'll be surrounded in minutes!"_

"_We're getting overwhelmed here!"_

"_I'm out of rounds, where's our damn support!?"_

"_Shit, they're coming in full force forward!"_

"_Alan, they're right on top of you!" _He heard Vanessa's voice from among the chaos.

"It's all coming apart…" Alan whispered to himself.

"_Alan, what do we do?" _Katie's Northstar looked to Alan with an optic full of fear as the Militia approached on mass. He checked his munitions and looked at the force in front of him, it was clear that he had little left to fight them with, but he had to. No reinforcements, no heavy support, no evac being sent down, all that was left were the number of Phantoms and their dwindling air-to-ground weaponry. _"Alan!"_ Katie yelled.

Alan shook himself out of his dumbstruck daze and took a shaky breath to ease his nerves, "We hold the line." He ordered, "Alpha, Echo, reposition yourselves inside the buildings and pack as many explosives and ammo as you can, Delta, take all the A.T. weaponry you can and get a vantage point. All other ground forces, dig in, hunker down, but- _Do_. _Not_. _Waver_. Foxtrot-4, Barry, what's your status?"

"_Southern flank can hold for now, I'm rendezvousing with the others up north, Edwin hasn't responded to any calls…"_

"Fine, ensure that line holds and don't take any chances. Kate, make _every_ shot count. I am officially declaring an 'Emergency Status'." Alan said, he gritted his teeth, and prepared himself as the from the thick rain came shadows.

"_How are we supposed to do this?" _Said a devastated Katie already wanting to call it quits, _"Neither of our Titans can go toe to toe with a full strike team!"_

"Maybe not, but I will go."

"_Alone?!"_

"Overwhelming odds? An operation going sour? Facing an imminent fate possibly worse death? Nothing new there." Alan said as he began forcing himself forward. Here he goes again, putting his life in the way of defeat, "I don't know who trained you mercenaries, but where I trained," His mind ran through the memories of harsh days of non-stop work, punishments for even the slightest mistake, and his fellow Pilots like his old friend Katherine that graduated with him, "You weren't _really_ considered anyone special until you could defeat four Titans on your own. Even then, you would just be labeled 'average'."

"_You're saying you've done that?"_

"No, I have not. Not yet." Alan finished.

So, without another word, he marched on into the thick haze of rain where half a dozen dark silhouettes were fast approaching. There would be no retreat for him, he made up his mind already even if Vanessa could get a ship to retrieve him. If nothing else, his aim was just to buy time for the rest of the I.M.C. forces to hold the line, and annihilate the Militia invasion force.

"Evi, override every safety feature you have." Alan instructed.

"Warning! This unit may become unstable! Please repeat?" Her programming kicked in to warn him about the dangers he could face: joints could snap from the torque, the rear engines could last longer but would melt under extra use, the reactor could overload and kill him right then and there, but would it be worth it? Only one way to find out.

"Override every safety feature you have." Alan repeated, this time slightly slower and with more emphasis behind each word.

"Authorization approved, override successful. Warning no offensive or defensive core ability installed! Continue?"

"Proceed."

"It has been a pleasure working with you, Pilot."

The first to arrive were two Ronins with swords at the ready. Alan kept his fingers, his arms, legs loose as his Titan did the same, he controlled his Titan just as he would his own body and kicked off the muddied ground to dash to the side. He swept the leg out from the Ronin on his right, but ignored it and charged forward to slam a punch straight into the second Ronin. Alan tore the sword out of the second Ronin's hands returned to impale the first enemy Titan through its arm, he was shot twice but the third and fourth times were picked from the air with his vortex shield and reflected back at their owner. He locked on with two missiles and fired.

"Warning: Six missiles remaining!" Evi told Alan as he kept silent for the fight in front of him. The Pilot grabbed the stolen sword from being stabbed through the ground and used it to swing against the still standing Ronin to great effect.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alan saw something glow and instinctively went to grab it with his vortex shield before immediately turning around and slamming the projectile into the Ronin in front of him. Alan didn't take the time watch the canopy of the orange and dull-green Ronin melt away from the thermite and kill the Pilot inside as he now had to turn to the first Ronin that had gotten up and a Scorch that was slowly approaching. Fortunately for the I.M.C. Pilot, the Ronin was now missing an arm, severely hindering its ability to fight which have Alan a chance to recover.

The Ronin went for a punch with its last arm but that was expertly caught and he used his knee to smash the bottom of the Ronin's canopy and force it open. Alan let Evi grab a few shots fired from a newly arrived Tone, but held them as Alan quickly left the safety of Evi's interior, pulled his pistol to shoot the exposed enemy Pilot, and enter the Ronin with the plan to tear a battery right out from the interior of the enemy Titan itself. His Brute Titan could not hold for long though and before long she was forced to shoot back the captured cannon rounds and leave herself all but defenseless. She pulled the Ronin in front of the incoming fire, making sure Alan had a clean and safe escape to return to her and install the stolen battery. Just as his Titan registered the renewed shields, half of it was depleted by fire from an Ion and the continued onslaught of both the Scorch and Tone. A railgun shot zoomed past Alan as he dodged to the side initially to close some distance and get around the Tone's shield wall it had just put down, and then an Ion had arrived to overwhelm the I.M.C. Pilot, but now it was a true four against one. The Scorch's Pilot got greedy and got in the way of it Tone ally by unleashing a 'shield' of intense flames that incinerated the Tone's shells when they tried to get through it. The ion closed the distance and tried to pincer Alan between itself and the Scorch, but Alan could see their plan. Alan hovered int the air as the Atlas and Ogre Titans enclosed on him, but he did not move out of the way, instead, he landed right on top of the Ion, but the Scorch shoved him off while the Tone got in a few hits on him

"Warning: Hull integrity at 50%. Outnumbered four to one!" Evi told Alan who ignored her warning. As Alan turned, he watched the Scorch get hit in the side and stumble from a charged railgun shot coming from the outpost still in sight of the bunch of Titans. The Scorch returned the favor by firing another thermite round while the Tone fired a string of missiles from a safe distance. Alan was almost grateful for the tracking missiles as he dashed out of the way of the Scorch that took another railgun round to its chassis. The Vortex Shield easily plucked a number of the missiles, but a handful had to be let trough. "Warning: Hull integrity at 36%. Retreat is an option!" Evi announced as her programming instructed her to, but of course this was ignored once again. With the missiles in hand, and the thermite dodged, Alan rushed over to the Ion that was still picking itself up and flung the redirected missiles straight at the unsuspecting Militia Titan.

It wasn't enough.

Alan delivered a heavy punch to the same area hit by the missiles before firing three of his own. "Warning: Three missiles remaining!" She said as Alan pushed the Titan back to the ground with the aid of the already unsteady, muddy ground. With one final punch, he burst open the Ion's canopy and ordered Evi to throw the struggling Militia Pilot toward the Scorch while he ripped the battery from the fallen Titan. He couldn't see it, but from the scream and flames, and momentary pause of combat, Alan could only guess the Scorch saw it as another 'projectile' and defended itself. He couldn't imagine the horrified look on their faces, nor would he want to grant a death so agonizing, but it was them, or him and Alan refused to let himself be another casualty on this Frontier. After seeing his shields charged, Alan found himself with the opportunity to tear open the stunned Scorch's hatch, so he did by giving it a punch that crumpled its interior and killed the dazed Pilot inside, but now, Alan had a valuable chunk of metal to slide around in the mud and that's exactly what he did. The thick armor plating hindered his speed, but for the sake of protection, it was worth it, but eventually it would run its course and collapse leaving Alan exposed to a still wandering Tone and Northstar, the former of which looked to have taken a round or two from Katie's own Northstar.

Alan had to withdraw, but the two remaining Militia Titans pursued with rage filled optics and a longing to avenge their fallen comrades. That was when the Militia riflemen began their assault. From the mud emerged dozens of foot soldiers making a mad charge toward the outpost after the sight of Alan retreating. He was hit by the railgun which once again depleted his shields, then came the Tone's rockets which he could barely defend against as he stopped just outside the outpost's walls.

"Warning: Hull integrity at 21%!" Evi warned, but when the two Militia Tians and the hordes of infantry approached, they were met with a ferocious fire of lead and a few rockets all from the nooks and crannies of the rubble all around them. Alan fired his last three rockets at the Tone, severely damaging it enough for Katie to finish it off, but when Alan took another step back and inside the compound, he felt almost like a sharp pain in his leg. Evi's limbs were starting to give out and he was starting to feel every bit of it with as he had strained his muscles to fight such a battle. He fell to a knee but the Militia Northstar wouldn't let up and smashed into Alan's Titan, crashing it against a wall with enough force to bring the crumbling concrete and rebar down. Evi tried to retaliate in Alan's stead by throwing a punch with her left arm, but that was grabbed and torn off in rage as the Militia Northstar beat down Alan's worn out Titan with it.

"Hull integrity at: 16%, 12%, 8%." Evi called out, but Alan could do nothing right now as he tried to deal with the pain and stress his body endured with his Titan. Luckily, the end of a charged railgun rested on the shoulder of the Militia Northstar and as soon as the Titan turned its attention over to it, a shot rang out. The enemy Northstar had a clean hole through its spherical chassis and collapsed to the ground. "Warning: Hull integrity at 7%. No enemy threat detected, safety override disabled, automatic shut-down initiated, ejecting Pilot canopy." Evi said as she achieved all these things with what little amount of energy she had to spare.

When the Titan's interior went dark and the protective canopy's emergency eject opened, rain trickled into the steaming hot interior of the Titan. The small but numerous droplets all but sizzled on contact with metal from the intense heat inside, but now without power and being drenched in rain, the steaming Titan began to cool. Alan breathed a sigh of relief as he sunk into his seat however, his moment of respite was just as quickly stolen from him as a fleet of vessels appeared on radar. They weren't friendly either…

Crawling out of his wrecked Titan, Alan fell to the wet concrete ground below him and looked to the sky. As the rain pecked and pattered against his body and visor, he could see a fleet of rescue ships on approach with no one to contest them anymore. Behind them, a brand-new ship design large in size and spewing out additional fighter support. "What… is that?" He asked to no one in particular.

"_That, is a MacAllan-Class Carrier." _He heard Naomi chime in from his comms.

"Any word from our northern flank?" Alan asked, not forgetting the part of the defensive line that faltered.

_"Negative, its gone dark. Commander wants an immediately evac of all available forces in the area, she's calling it on this one."_

"No." Alan denied, he'd make sure

_"Pardon? That's an order from the Commander, Pilot." _The woman reminded.

"Pack a ship with two teams of Spectres and then come pick me up." Alan ordered, checking his equipment and ammo to be sure he was ready for whoever got in his way.

_"That sounds like you're disobeying orders."_

He hesitated before answering again, "Aye command, standing down." He lied, cutting the channel between them before calling Katie over to him. "Kate, I need you to take me North, just the two of us.

_"We're supposed to sit and wait for evac!" _She exclaimed.

"Listen, we don't know each other and personally I don't really care about staying to fight, but unless you want to go home and sit at an empty table for the rest of the war, we go North." Alan spoke from experience. Lately his days have been… 'lonesome' to put it bluntly as no one- save one- on the _Miss Fortune_ knew him except as 'that resident Pilot' of the ship. Either way, he would not let the unknown go unchecked, especially since this one had the Militia involved in something that could threaten allied forces.

Reluctantly, Katie agreed and picked Alan up from the ground, _"What exactly is going on?"_ She asked through private comms.

"Nothing good." Alan replied, keeping an eye out for any Militia threats. Hostile dropships were already making their landings at a few points around the defensive line, fortunately there weren't too many.

It wasn't long before the Northstar and its additional passenger arrived to the last known location of the rest of their team, but things looked grim. Bodies of I.M.C. and Militia forces littered the bombed-out grounds and filled in short and shallow trenches that were used as makeshift cover. There were dozens, if not hundreds of bodies and wrecks of fallen Militia dropships still burning in the rain. There was not a single sign of life from either side, but the worst of it came when they saw the blackened and charred chassis of an Atlas Titan resting its back against one of the fallen dropships. Then came another, half buried in mud, and another torn in two, but of the three Titans, only one dead Pilot was present. _"My god…" _Katie whispered through comms, hastily disembarking from her Titan to check on the Tone resting first fallen Tone. Inside was the torn, bloodied, and battered body of Barry, his visor cracked half open, his armor stripped from his body, his uniform torn and holding on by threads and mud.

Alan took command of the Northstar, dropping to the ground and ordering the Titan to keep its last railgun shot charged and ready should they be ambushed while its owner mourned a loss. He couldn't particularly see it, but luckily, or unluckily, for the other Pilot, Barry showed signs of life by taking one long, careful look at his friend and comrade before he fell back into his seat permanently this time. He ignored the wails and denial, letting the other Pilot have as much time as she needed because she would _really _need it. Alan himself hadn't ever had the time to mourn properly between the constant deployments and exhausted state of both himself and those he served alongside, but he had always been quiet about it, silently taking in the heavy price paid for being a Pilot which was nothing more than another Priority Target for either side.

Their moment was cut short though as a Militia dropship in the far distance was spinning up its jump drive and about to fly over them, but the Northstar's programming was already taking aim. In a single shot, one of the dropship's engines went up in flames and the ship violently spun out of control before crashing to the ground and skidding straight toward them. Alan drew his sidearm, knowing that there was even the _slightest_ possibility of someone surviving and approached the fallen ship.

From the wreckage emerged two scathed and bruised traitors clutching their wounds. Had it been any regular Militia Pilot, he would have granted a quick, but honorable death, but these two… These two would not be given such a mercy… Betrayal was a wound that was still fresh, a wound Alan would never forget nor forgive. Since entering the Frontier, he had seen and personally felt betrayal after betrayal, from former allies, once respected officers, his own former friends and squadmates, now it just made him sick.

The first of the two looked up at him, "Impossible…" He panted, "There were six of them! Six against two small and pitiful fodder… So, what now, you gonna' shoot me?"

"No, you aren't worth it." Alan spat back, holstering his pistol as an insult. This infuriated the younger Pilot who did his best to make a mad charge against Alan, but the attempt was futile. Alan easily sidestepped the incoming charge, and rammed a fist into his attacker's stomach, "You threw away comradery." He stated. The traitor quickly recovered and tried to tackle Alan but Alan grabbed his opponent by the wrist and arm and threw him over his shoulders and slammed him into the ground and hammered the fallen Pilot's chest with his forearm, "They trusted, cared about you, and _still_, you betray your own friends, have you no honor, no shame?" he said, looking at the other woman whom stood back and looked away in disgrace. The man got up again and threw a weak punch, but of course this did nothing. Alan was almost willing to forgive his old team for turning against him, they did it because they felt the I.M.C. was wrong, but this man here? What was it? Money? Power? Vengeance? It wouldn't matter, Alan wouldn't forgive it either way.

In one swift strike, Alan struck at the other man's elbow with all the strength he had, backed up by small traces of anger that he let loose after being mostly bottled up for so long and broke the traitor's arm. Alan wouldn't kill him himself, so he pulled out his old Hammond and shot first both legs, then the other man's side, and finally taking aim at the beaten Pilot's right lung, but of course, he was stopped by a rocket streaming from the air and hitting the Northstar behind Alan. His attention was diverted as h saw the impact, but when he turned back, an electric smoke grenade landed between him and the other Pilot before bursting open and releasing a cloud of smoke to hide either side from view. On his right, in the air, another Militia Crow made a quick stop behind the wall of smoke. Alan couldn't do much else but seethe with anger and watch his enemy escape only seconds later.

Katie came from behind him and tried firing her automatic-pistol in vain at the ship but in her fury, she failed to realize she ran out of ammo but kept firing as if her very glares would put more bullets in her sidearm and somehow bring down the escaping dropship.

With was clear that it was over once the Militia carrier begun its departure from the atmosphere and in one sudden jump it was gone, just like that. After the sounds of combat were finally silenced, Alan made a direct hail to the _Miss Fortune_, "Command- Vanessa, I need another dropship at my position, I missed the initial extraction." He half-lied. He wasn't so sure how well the operation performed, but to him, it was another failure and as he looked to Katie, to her, it was nothing less than a nightmare.

* * *

**A.N.:**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	17. Chapter 17: Warning From Home

"Warning From Home"

The trip home was not as bright as one would expect from a victorious battle, the back of the Goblin dropship was silent and empty save for the two Pilots sitting opposite sides of the ship. Alan wasn't the one to often strike up conversation, but now would be the worst time for it anyways. The only other survivor had her head buried in her hands with her helmet thrown to the back of the vessel out of rage some time earlier. She had no words, no tears, not even the face of confusion and pain, Katie, after realizing everything going on, sat with a blank expression while her mind did its best to process the sudden information and stress.

Alan rested his eyes and leaned back into his seat while the ship dodged and weaved around bits of debris here and there but it did not disturb him too much. Almost asleep, it wasn't until the transport jerked to a halt and gently touched down. After a few moments of waiting, the doors hissed open and the two Pilots were greeted by the surroundings of metal and machine. Crew paced back and forth getting prepared for yet another fight should it come, but the hangar was otherwise rather calm. Unfortunately for the two Pilots, a mixed entourage of Spectres and security were the first to meet them first.

"Miss Goodwin, _Alan,_" Vanessa greeted, the latter of the names being spoken with disdain and displeasure," Welcome back from the operation. 'Security Team Two', please escort our new guest to her temporary quarters until I call for her, I must speak to our _own_ Pilot for just a moment." She ordered, holding her hands behind her back while the security team left the Pilot, Commander, and the team of Spectres alone. After a good minute or two their little 'talk' began, "Come with me, Pilot, I believe we must discuss the… 'Terms and reasons' behind your actions." She stated as the four Spectres still around her then surrounded the both of them.

"I don't follow." Alan admitted, "You mean missing evac?"

"Partially." Vanessa answered before starting her walk out of the hangar while the Spectres pushed Alan along quite forcefully. "I gave the instruction to withdraw from the field due to the unforeseen arrival of that new Militia Carrier, but still you continued to search for a fight."

"Well I found a few answers to our problems."

"I am well aware, I watched through the sights of your friend's Titan."

"They got away, what else could I do?" Alan asked, telling his friend and commanding officer about his findings during the battle. He can't say he was surprised or necessarily cared, but to even go as far as to backstab and kill their own friend and leave another alone to mourn while they escaped was heartbreaking to say the least. At least for Alan, his team still respected their comradery enough to let each other go when they declared their defection, but meeting them on the battlefield again was just a stroke of bad luck.

"Nothing. If I were any other officer, I might be in admiration of your willingness to fight and get the job done, but I'm not." The woman said as they both continued to march on to whatever their destination may be. The rest of the crew went so far as to actively avoid getting in their way for one reason or another, others, such as the combat personnel of regular pilots and grunts stood at attention until they passed. Vanessa must have certainly done _something_ while Alan was away because not another soul dared to look her in the eye when she passed.

"I don't like where this is going."

"Oh please, I can forgive the _slight_ _insubordination_," She began with a raised, but irritated voice, "All things considered: Our history, your achievements, revealing the mercenaries that broke contract, even the sudden arrival of the new enemy vessel that more or less smashed through what resistance we had left. But I cannot tolerate anyone disobeying orders this early in my career, even for you, there must be some punishment." She said as she began typing away on a datapad she had with her, "You're lucky, Alan, you are an asset that even I myself consider too valuable to simply be locked away while we suffer considerable defeat after defeat. Either way, I'm assigning you a personal escort of Spectres, they can keep up with your movements, and won't waste valuable manpower. Everywhere you go, they will follow and drag you back if need be." She finished, taking the Pilot to her personal quarters.

"I hate to burst your bubble, _Commander_, but you do know that they can be destroyed pretty easily."

"Oh, I know, but they aren't going to be there to overpower you, they're going to be there to tell _me_ about what happens to you. If they are all destroyed, so be it, I trust you enough to still follow my instructions unless a there is a sufficient reason not to."

"Alright, well what now?"

"Now, we wait. We are down to fifteen percent of our supplies, the rest of the damaged fleet needs protection while they repair, and we have lots of wounded to take care of. Just do what your normally do between deployments, I'll be somewhere around carrying a few _others _on my back because they can't do anything themselves."

"Did something happen while I was gone?" Alan asked, taking the obvious bait for conversation.

"Oh, there are lots of things going on in the background while the rest of you are on the ground: Bargaining, insults, criticism, debates, that sort of thing. I've learned that there aren't too many officers willing to take even the smallest of risks."

"And you?"

"I have played the greatest card in my hand. Although our results from the operation were 'meager' at best, with the number of losses and all, we did achieve our goal in crushing a vast quantity of the Milita's forces here. Any future invasion or takeover have been postponed for now."

"What about the ship that got through?"

"We've identified it as the 'MCS _Stockton_', destination and point of origin are unknown, but wherever its going, it will meet its demise by my command."

By now, they arrived at Vanessa's office, two of the Spectres remained outside while the other pair stood close behind Alan as both the Pilot and officer found seats for themselves. "Probably not the best idea to let a personal grudge get to you." Alan suggested to Vanessa.

"It's not, but when I said the ship smashed through our defenses, that was somewhat literally. It rammed and ultimately destroyed one of our sister ships. Personally, I don't mind one way or another about _how_ that carrier is destroyed, but I do hope we come around and meet them again." Vanessa agreed, "Now, run along and do whatever it is you do while we wait, but prepare yourself for future deployments, I feel that it may be sooner than either of us expect." She said as Alan turned around to leave. "Oh, one more thing, I know you received just a slap on the wrist, but next time I will _not_ hesitate to use force, understood?"

The Pilot nodded, walking out the door and was followed by the four Spectres who would be keeping a watchful eye on him for as long as they were operational.

\- ( o ) -

In the heart of the ship was the buzzing and screeching of engineering equipment moving crates of supplies around to be unloaded while torches and other tools for repair worked tirelessly. The ones in charge, the engineers and other assisting crew, seemed to have been working non-stop by the evidence of a few individuals sleeping on chairs, the ground, their breakroom, wherever they could that wasn't in the way of their work. Those that were up were not very pleased with the workload thrown on them, but even they kept their senses sharp and worked hard to maintain their reputable status regarding their high 'quality' of work.

"Optics are almost shattered, gyros in the joints are cracked, and you managed to slightly fuse the reactor together to the chassis." The engineer said before turning to Alan, "Do you have _any_ idea how hard it's going to be to get this thing operational. We're already running low on supplies, and the ship comes first, you do know that, right?" Alan was asked. He came to engineering to see if his Titan had survived or was even extracted from the field and fortunately for him, it was, but in a poor condition.

"It was necessary." Alan defended himself. He probably could have played it a little safer in hindsight, but at the time his only support was a handful of infantry squads and a long-range sniper, had he _not_ gone out and dealed what damage he could, they might have been wiped out in the process.

"it's _reckless_! These things don't just shut down and turn off, if you run them hot, they _explode_." The engineer went on.

"But you can fix it?"

"Christ." The man mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose, "The best we can do, with the resources we have, it will be about a month before she's fully done again, so be grateful next time. So help me, if we have to fix this kind of damage again I'm just going to label her 'totaled'."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Alan waved away as he gave up and started to leave with his escort of Spectres in tow.

As he left, Alan thought about checking on Katie to see if she was still faring well, but ultimately decided not to, but once again, he was left alone save for the soulless machines that watched him go about his day. Perhaps he could just rest and recover just like everyone else on the ship, his job was done after all and he felt that he earned some respite. However, he and those of the I.M.C. Security Detachment would never expect to be ordered for redeployment days later days later, they weren't fully resupplied, nor fully repaired, but when the _Miss Fortune_ and a handful of other capable vessels were recalled to Typhon, they departed without hesitation…

* * *

**A.N.: Have to cut it a little short sorry to say.**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	18. Chapter 18: Predator and Prey

"Predator and Prey"

In a flash the I.M.S. _Miss Fortune_ finished its jump to its final destination of Typhon, its original home, but what the ship's Commander and bridge crew saw were the corpses of wrecked military vessels and fields of steel debris clouding their jump point. The _Miss Fortune_ and her rag-tag group of rescuers feared they were far too late in their desperate attempt to defend Typhon from the destructive nature of the Militia. However, upon closer inspection of the dead, drifting hulls that the ships dodged and weaved through and around, it was apparent that these ships belonged to none other than the Militia forces themselves which turned shocked and disheartened expressions into sighs of relief, but not all was perfect.

"Ma'am, I've a completed on one of the wrecked carriers like you asked, bringing it on screen." A helmsman reported to Vanessa who stood at the forefront of the bridge with Alan with her- and of course there was his 'escort' of Spectres right behind him.

A digital schematic of the wreckage popped into view in front of both the Commander and Pilot, the former inspecting each open wound or twisted metal the carrier had shown off while the latter was lost in what to make of it. "M.C.S. _Rickman_, odd, none of her damage looks to be traditional combat." Vanessa noted mostly to herself with a finger and thumb on her chin as her mind ran through whatever scenario it could think of.

"'Traditional'?" Alan questioned, now more interested in inspecting his outdated helmet than the ship.

"Outside of surrounding an enemy vessel, standard doctrine would push for long range, concentrated fire, in turn leaning fewer breaches in the hulls, but generally larger in size and focused on one portion of the ship. This…" She turned to Alan with a finger tapping at the schematic in front of her, "This looks like it was caught in a 'web'. Weapon batteries destroyed by explosives- missiles most likely- and all around, the armor and internal structure is shredded, even a number of fighters and dropships are still trapped inside giving me the impression that they never got the chance to make it out."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Alan asked.

"It's strange. The bulk of our security detachment including us were deployed elsewhere. The handful of ships left to defend Typhon should _not_ have the firepower of this scale nor do I recall our defensive capabilities being this potent." Vanessa stated, but after a few seconds of thinking to herself, Alan could see a sly grin on her lips. She must have reached some conclusion, but she wouldn't utter another word about it. "Someone, patch me through to ARES, notify them of our arrival. I want all available combat teams to be ready for deployment at a moment's notice." Vanessa ordered her crew, "Except you, Pilot, Alan, I want to wait until I know what to do with you." She finished

"Ma'am, Typhon is coming into view." Said another one of the crewmembers as the wreckage in front of them slowly drifted out of their sight. Typhon deep blues and vibrant greens still remained, but the world's beauty was surrounded by an orbital ring. Typhon's moon, Orthros, followed suit, showing that it had its heart ripped right out from its core with plenty of rock now circling the world in a newly created ring. Typhon did _not_ have that feature when they left…

"My god…" Alan uttered in awe as he dropped his helmet and took in the view, "Did the Militia do this?" he asked, turning to Vanessa who didn't seem to flinch at the sight

"You go and resupply yourself Alan, let me make preparations. We'll need to make every last hour count." Vanessa said to him, "Take him." She ordered the Spectres who grabbed the Pilot and pulled him along.

"No need to be so forceful…" The man muttered to himself as he reached down to pick up and put on his helmet. The machines that accompanied him kept close as the sirens went off, telling the crew to prepare for possible combat, but unlike them, Alan would be sitting this one out for now from the looks of things.

To his surprise, it was less than an hour later before he was called up again. He had restocked on what he could, but there wasn't much to spare to begin with, only two frag grenades and a spare magazine for his Hammond. He would have taken something else, _if there was something else to begin with_. So far, it had just been 'Security Use Only' R-201s.

Alan was ordered to board one of the last Goblin Dropships available with his 'squad' for back up, but that would be all he would receive. "Mind telling me my mission _before_ I'm deployed out in the middle of nowhere?" He said to Vanessa who was going to personally oversee all ground operations over troops she had command of, though there weren't too many of them left.

_ "To make things short: You're headed to the Reclamation Center for recon and information gathering." _Vanessa said through his helmet's comm piece.

"_That_ place? Christ, it reeks, and that's not to mention the deadly waste that can literally kill you in seconds." Alan said as the ship's door hissed shut, "So, what's the occasion?"

_"You want the short version or the long version?"_ Vanessa asked a curious Alan. The ship's pilot meanwhile, made some confirmation about clearance before lifting the ship off the ground and slowly making a careful turn for a safe departure.

"Long, I've got time." Alan answered back, pulling a Volt from the clutches of one of the Spectres and inspecting it before it was swiftly taken back by a robotic hand.

_ "Well," _She said slowly, _"I _may_ have accepted a contract offered to you on your behalf_." Vanessa admitted.

"You… What!?" Alan exclaimed, surprising the pilot up front who told him to keep the chatter down. The least she could have done is forwarded the message to him, but of course she'd take the reins and drag him along with whatever scheme she had planned.

_"Look either you accepted it, or I'd assign you to the mission anyways, the extra payment on top of your regular salary is just an added bonus." _Vanessa gave the ultimatum, though once again, that was already decided for Alan without him even knowing up until now.

"I don't think you have the authority." Alan boldly returned.

_"On the contrary, I think the General would be more than pleased to hear you accept this personal mission from him. I just happened to be the 'messenger' for you, but we're getting sidetracked and I digress." _Vanessa began before moving on, _"You have orders from the top: Investigate the lost garrison at the Reclamation Facility, apparently a Militia Pilot passed through there and practically wiped them all out singlehandedly. Specifically, you are to find evidence of who is the Militia Pilot responsible for annihilating our forces, hunt them, and kill them. You're going to be paid per objective by the way, so no need to rush through it just yet."_

"Great." Alan said sarcastically and sighed. He wasn't any kind of special assassin nor executioner, yet once _again_ he was going to be the one to fulfil this kind of mission. Wouldn't be the first time he had to do this, probably wouldn't be the last either.

"_One more thing, you might be meeting with another Pilot, a mercenary contracted with the I.M.C., when you get there. Do play kindly, I know you don't particularly like those kinds of Pilots, but I'm not asking for your preference." _The woman commanded as Alan let out another sigh. Now he just really missed the old days when the joke about him being on a leash and subservient to her was just that, but now it was all but literal. _Wonderful._

"This one going to backstab us too?" Alan asked as he rolled his eyes under his helmet. He already knew the answer, but thinking back to a certain _other_ two Pilots who willing broke their contract set a new low for his opinion on mercenaries.

_"Hmm, no. These are _Apex Predators; _they'll follow it through to the end and I'm certain you're well acquainted already." _Vanessa claimed while Alan scoffed. By now the Goblin had already jumped into the Typhon's atmosphere and zoomed over the battle worn facility. _"The last know presence of your target was in the water treatment facility, Section K-28, direct access has been loss, so you'll be dropping in, have fun."_

"Aye, Commander, over and out." Alan acknowledged as the doors pushed open and waited for the passengers to make their exit.

"This is as far as I can take you Pilot, my bird's a little big to lower and further!" The dropship pilot shouted over the rushing wind, "Good hunting!" He said as Alan pulled a cable out and threw it out the dropship's side.

Alan used a clip to secure himself, wrapped the cable around his arm one time, and, against his instincts telling him _not_ to jump, the Pilot stepped off the safety of the ship and rappelled down into the middle of the three open air holes into the facility. Naturally, the Spectres didn't need such equipment and simply jumped down to land on their robust legs that easily broke their fall before they stood back up and readied themselves. Alan unhooked himself from the cable and tugged on it twice before it shot right back up and out of the facility.

The first thing Alan was met with was the smell of the sludge running under him, which to no surprise made his helmet send of a warning to its user about the material being quite deadly and 'a little' radioactive, and behind him was a pit straight into the liquid. Opposite of the pit, was a rather poorly maintained fence made up of four long and large cables with the ends having given out already. It appeared to be some kind of walkway with its own roof opening, though that term didn't seem to fit as it looked large enough to allow for vehicles and even Titans to traverse with relative ease.

Afterwards, he was immediately met by a familiar sight on the frontier: The remains of a battle that took place who knows how long ago. The bodies of I.M.C. security forces numbered in the dozens with bullet ridden remains of some new type of Spectres lying about with bullet casings and blood littering the concrete floor which itself showed signs of wear and tear. Taking the opportunity, Alan picked up an R-201 from a fallen I.M.C. grunt, took a pair of shuriken looking weapons, and three extra magazines after he reloaded a fresh clip into the rifle. Alan was curious about what new things the ARES Division had developed and deployed as a closer look at the new, fallen Spectres showed many differences from the ones that followed him around. These new models were taller, had heavier armor, and curiously they had what looked to be like a kind of battery or power source on its back, exposed for any enemy to take a shot at it. Alan nonchalantly walked toward one of the sealed door's control panel and began typing away at it, but nothing came up. "Commander, I'm at one of the service tunnel's gates, but it seems to be either out of sufficient power or locked down. You going to work some magic or am I going to have to find an alternate route?" Alan contacted Vanessa again as he looked for a possible panel or port to use a data knife. It'd certainly be a nice change of pace, but he knew deep down that it wouldn't be that simple.

"_The systems took a major beating," _Vanessa said after a long pause, _"But there does seem to be an alternate route that might be a bit dangerous. Let me bring up some blueprints." _She began, _"Alright, is there any way you can jump across that pit? If you can get to the other side, then it's just a straight shot to Section K-28."_

Alan carefully approached the railing and took a long look down into the dark and foreboding pit. He turned to either side of the pit to see if there was something that could help him get across, but on his left was an empty observation deck where staff would normally regulate the flow of the deadly sludge and monitor its treatment- if there was anyone here- but on his right was a single small pipe just mocking him. The large pipe didn't quite reach all the way across, but it did tease him by showing that he _could_ make the jump with the aid of his jump kit, that the fence that was supposed to be in place was guarding against such feats had snapped and been made clear, but _only_ if he were to take the chance and jump over certain death. Alan sighed as he chose to take the chance.

"No need to worry, Alan." He reassured himself as he walked on out onto the pipe, "It's just a simple wall run, over a pit of sludge that's radioactive." He finished. Worst case scenario he _did_ have his grapple with him, but the drop ironically looked too shallow for him to use it in time. In either case, Alan looked back to the Spectres that watched over him, "Try to keep up?" He said, shaking his head before taking in the fact that he was trying to joke around with machines.

He readied himself, waiting a full three seconds to work up the courage to make the leap of faith. When he did, he ran his hand to keep his balance and grab onto something should he fail, not that there was something to grab on to, but it was simply what he and other Pilots were taught to do. He closed the gap as quick as he could then made another jump before rolling to a halt on the concrete surface below him and seconds later, the Spectres made one long jump over pit and landed next to him, outshining the Pilot. Fortunately, no one was here to see it.

Alan picked himself up and made the trek into the open hall where he spotted a badly charred chassis of what looked to be an Ion and a Spectre close by in a similar state. On the wall in front of him was a large '_K 27'_ with an arrow directing him to his left where he found yet more fallen Spectres at the foot of two wide slants that would have been where the toxic sludge flowed like a river, but evidently the treatment plant went offline as all that was left on the concrete slopes and walkway were red stains. It wasn't blood, though that might have been a better alternative. He crossed the dried up 'river' and headed up the stairs of a catwalk that was home to many more remains of Spectres, but this time there were the Militia bodies scattered around. A fight had taken place some time ago, but there didn't look to be the sign of a clear victor, though it should be obvious considering why Alan was here in the first place.

Alan walked over to investigate the cold bodies and their weapons, he hadn't seen them before with their new weapons and armor. The armor designs were a bit simple, much like most of the I.M.C.'s own forces on the planet, but out on the Frontier, it made sense: function over form was the go to most of the time, their bullpup weapons seemed to take inspiration from weapons of the past with parts of it appearing as if it were made of wood and the parts being put together haphazardly. A bit useless right now, it was empty and the Pilot had his own weapon, but he'd keep it in mind when dealing with Militia infantry carrying the thing. Tossing it aside, Alan continued up more stairs and past two bulkhead doors and yet more bodies. Maybe this is where they made their final stand? He went over to investigate again, looking more closely at the uniform this time to look for any identification and then he found it: _'2__nd__ MILITIA FUSILIERS', _"Commander, I found a detachment of Militia here, all deceased, any intel on what happened? Over." Alan asked through comms.

"_Only that they tried to make rendezvous and were wiped out by garrison forces, that's when your target came along and returned the favor."_

"How'd they get on the planet in the first place. We saw the devastation in orbit, were there any ships that survived?"

"_I'll look into to the possibilities of surviving ships, as for how they made it on the planet, one of the Militia carriers: The M.C.S. MacAllan, went down and most of her crew managed to escape before impact. That's also where our target Pilot in question seemed to originate from. Anyways, others might have had the same fate, but so far, we don't know any more details."_

"Right, well careful up there then, I'm sure you'd be embarrassed to be ambushed around our own planet."

Vanessa chuckled, _"Will do, Alan, over and out."_

Alan walked up another set of stairs and was glad to find himself facing another sign: _'K 28'_. But the deadly flow of sludge this time was still in operation. It was trickling, emptying the last of the material it had, but it was enough to make traversing it on foot a hazard. Not being deterred, Alan used his grapple to pull himself to the wall opposite of him and started another run with the aid of his jump kit. From that wall, he leaped to the other, and back again, slowly approaching bright daylight when he came across a narrow 'arena' as shown by the countless wrecks of Titans from smaller Stryders with I.M.C. Brutes torn apart to other Atlas Titans. The latter of which looked to be more aligned with the Militia, but one fat, Ogre stuck out. The box itself had a huge open blast door on the opposite end with pillars close to the center to hold up the roof and structure. Thermite struggled to stay lit, but now they only had a soft glow to them, chunks of rock and pebbles shot off from the surrounding structure were scattered just as much as the metal parts and Titans were, but Alan wasn't here to admire the view.

Since the remains of the Ogre, a Scorch, stood out the most, being the largest wreck of them all, Alan climbed aboard it's wreck where a hatch was open and inside was a mess of a man. Shoddy hair, a discolored eye, and a slight smell that was probably a bit of narcotics, and apparently a small, red and white patch of a skull with horns. To Alan's surprise, the body had on it an old Hammond 2011, just like his own. Alan half smiled at the chance to both take the gun for himself and the spare ammo that was left behind, the sidearm was rarely produced anymore since the newer models came into circulation, but the Pilot's scavenging was quickly cut short when the heavy footsteps of a Titan reached his ear. With little time to spare, Alan grabbed the dead Pilot's helmet and kept it on his side, hopefully it still was intact enough to give a full report on what happened here, but that would be for later. He called for the Spectres to find cover and ambush points themselves, though of course one would always stay with him 'just in case'.

Should he use his pulse blade to give him a location on the Titan? Maybe, but if he did, then that Titan would certainly know that he was around. Coming up with a quick plan to rodeo the incoming Titan, Alan climbed one of the pillars as high as he could while remaining out of sight and waited, he instructed the other Spectres to do the same and wait for his instruction.

Eventually, an Ion Titan sporting a red chassis and orange arms came into his sight and he made the jump for it. As he hitched a ride on the Titan, the mech was quick to take notice him and reach for him, but Alan slipped away, eventually climbing to the Titan's front where the Pilot inside could get a clear look at him. Alan did his best to try and hold the R-201 rifle at his hip and with one hand in order to take out the optics. Taking another risk, Alan pushed off the Titan with his foot which allowed him to then grab his weapon with both hands and properly aim, but in a flash, the Titan was gone and Alan simply fell to the ground with a grunt and rolled and groaned in pain.

"_Hold your fire, Pilot," _Said a woman with a light English accent, _"None of us 'ere are Militia. Identify yourself and state your business."_

"You first!" Alan managed to force out through his groan.

The Ion Titan appeared back into view and towered over Alan with a menacing shadow engulfing him, its Splitter Rifle now clutched in both of its hands, _"I don't think you're in a position to make demands, love._" She said, lowering her Titan to get a closer look at the Pilot on the ground before giving her own demand again, _"Now, name and business."_

Alan reluctantly went ahead and answered, recalling the Spectres to him as he caught his breath, "Alan Stassov of the I.M.S. _Miss Fortune,_ responding to a distress call here on Typhon. _I_ am here to investigate and track a target." He answered.

As the Ion dropped to one knee in a, the hatched of the Titan opened up and the woman inside stepped down to the ground, "Then we're after the same thing." She claimed, "Sloan, Apex Predators. I'm sure I've heard your name thrown around once or twice." She said, resting on one leg with a hand on her hip.

"You and everyone else on this Frontier," Alan grumbled as he got up, "I don't suppose this is one of yours then is it?" Alan asked as he took the helmet from his side and tossed it to the woman who caught it and looked it over.

"Blisk, this is Slone." She said over her own comm channel, "Kane and Ash are dead. Someone's been killing your mercs and it looks like one of our radios has been nicked," She reported as she looked at the side of the helmet, "I knew you shouldn't've hired those tossers." She finished, tossing the helmet aside in disgust.

"Damn, you're cold, weren't they part of your group?" Alan asked, surprised at how little the woman cared about her comrades.

"If they couldn't handle one Pilot, then they're better off dead. Besides, their pay goes right back to the rest of us." The mercenary admitted. She eyed Alan from head to toe as he dusted himself off, "That's some old equipment, Pilot, I don't suppose you served under Blisk then, eh?"

"For a time. Sergeant left not long after Demeter." Alan answered while both climbed aboard the Ion, Slone inside her Titan, Alan climbing the its arm and riding on top.

There was a small pause, "Bloody hell," Slone swore as she slammed a fist against the inside of her Titan, "Can _no one_ do their job?" She yelled to herself, probably because of something she just heard over comms.

"Sounds like our queue." Alan said to her, before turning to his channel too, "Commander, permission to link with an additional channel? Over."

"_What's the purpose, Alan?" _Vanessa inquired. The Ion picked itself up and the hatch sealed shut before it turned and began its sprint back from where it came, Alan's Spectres were close behind and even jumping on board the Titan in an effort not to fall behind.

"To hunt, our target's trail has been found."

* * *

**A.N.: This should make up the previous chapter in length!**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	19. Chapter 19: The Corporate Jungle

"The Corporate Jungle"

It had been over an hour since the last report came in: An Interstellar Beacon has been compromised by Militia forces, the I.M.C. stationed to defend it barely even delayed the terrorists leaving a huge opportunity for them to regroup, and now it someone had to come clean up the mess; someone _qualified_.

"This is as far as I can take ya', Pilot, now get off, my Titan's not a damn mule."The Apex Predator, Sloan, told Alan rather rudely. It had been a non-stop travel from the water reclamation facility, though only about an hour or two thanks to the Titan's speed rather than going on foot, but after going into the dense jungle, progress slowed to a crawl. "Get to scouting love, I'd like to know what I'm up against, _before_ a fight." She ordered.

"Hold up," Alan began as he complied with the other Pilot's demand, "_You're_ the one with an armored Atlas and _I _have to go on foot first?"

"Use that brain of yours, if you haven't noticed, jungle ain't too great in this color. Plus, the moment they spot me there'll be Vanguards all over us." She said, showing off her Titan's coat of paint that sorely stood out among the deep greens and browns, "And make it quick too, I've got other places to be."

The Pilot on the ground grumbled as he complied with one of the Spectres pushing him along as if it were the one giving orders. He kept his footsteps as light as he could to keep from making obvious tracks, but wearing heavy boots certainly made that task more difficult, fortunately for Alan, he doubted there would be anyone competent enough out here specifically looking for his tracks.

Alan started by climbing up into the trees where the large leaves and high vantage point would give him an edge in both stealth and combat. It was a bit risky as the noise from his jump kit might alert someone so he kept its use to a minimum by jumping branch to branch instead. The Pilot was on the lookout for any patrol in the area, the Militia were probably low on numbers, but that didn't mean that would throw caution to the wind and expect to regroup without interruption, though what each patrol would consist of was another question. The Spectres that were with him actually complied with what he wanted: Staying on the ground and wait for his signal to launch an ambush should he need them.

As predicted, a lone patrol of four riflemen looked to be on a break with one smoking away from the others, one on overwatch, and the last two going back and forth about an orbital ambush that all but annihilated the Militia fleet. Keeping quite and in the trees, Alan took aim with his rifle, listening in on the group to gather what information he could.

"I don't know man, we've already got the I.M.C. huntin' us down, now I hear that _even the wildlife_ wants us dead. Just what exactly are we doing here?" One of them asked as he inspected his weapon. Both he and the man in front of him sat on a couple of rocks to check the rest of gear. Maintenance in the jungle was definitely a pain, but Alan wondered whether the weapons the Militia slapped together were as robust and durable as anything the I.M.C. made; probably not.

"Hell if I know, but I'm willing to bet that it has something to do with those damn S.R.S., don't know why else Commander Briggs would lead personally." The other mentioned, setting his weapon by his side as he sat back to relax.

"Tch, they don't tell us shit, do they? I mean it's _us_ that do the real fighting and dying, but here comes the 'new kids' with their shiny new Titans and talent. It's like everything we did before Demeter-"

"Hold that thought." The rifleman keeping lookout interrupted, "This is Striker One, go ahead." He said over comms as the others grabbed their weapons, "Negative, I.M.C. must be in a pitiful state if they're not going to counter attack." He paused again, "Charging a frontal assault in one hour? With our numbers? That's suicide- Affirmative, regrouping." He said as he beckoned for his men to follow, but Alan would take the shot first.

The leader of the team collapsed as the other three picked up their weapons and began firing wildly around them. The bullets did nothing as their poor accuracy barely hit anything more than twice, and that's not to mention that Alan was up in the canopy, above wherever the Militia were firing. "This is Striker Two, we've-" Alan took another shot and then the second Militia rifleman fell.

"Up in the trees!" A third said as he started to reload. The fourth began firing, which forced Alan to drop to the ground and make a dash out in the open. One tried to make a call back to their leaders but was cut short by a burst from the Pilot's rifle, the fourth went down just as easily as both of the remaining riflemen had previously spent their ammo on trying to kills the trees around them.

However, there was one thing that did not go smoothly: _"Striker, report, we heard weapons fire. Striker, report in, that's an order!" _There was no on to respond, _"Looks like we've got company." _He shouted to others around him before finishing,_ "You'll regret this, I.M.C."_

"Sloan, we've got a bit of a problem." Alan told the woman over comms.

_"I leave you alone for a few minutes and now you go screw up." _She said with a mumbled curse after words that Alan could hardly hear.

Ignoring the slight, Alan continued, "We've got possible enemy Pilots and Titans, unknown number." He informed. Once again, he climbed up into the trees for cover and waited, ordering the Spectres to do the same as they crouched behind rocks and trees.

After waiting with intense anticipation, a lone Militia Titan came into view, but then came another, and another. Two Tones, one Ion. There was nothing Alan could do while on foot, not against three fresh Titans, but aid came in the form of a single modified Ion Titan clad in Red and orange.

_"An Apex Predator, eh? Let's see you earn that name!" _Said one of the Militia Pilots as the firefight began to ensue. Cannon rounds blew through tree trunks while the energy weapons burned the bark and whatever other spot it hit.

Alan watched the three against one and tried to plan his next move, but he was stumped on what course of action to take next without his Titan, "_Pilot, quit starin' and do something useful!" _The mercenary yelled over comms. He was surprised to see barely any scratches on her hull, but in being on the defensive, Sloan could not do much to retaliate.

"Miss Fortune, I need my Titan." Alan hailed the ship over comms.

_"That's going to be a negative Pilot,"_ Vanessa reported after a moment, _"Engineering says, she's still in repair and isn't at 100%."_

"Just do it!" Alan returned, ultimately deciding that he had to act _now_.

_"Aye, Alan, she'll be on the way in two minutes, don't say I didn't warn you."_

The I.M.C. Pilot jumped from his safe position above the metal giants and on top of the closest one which was a Tone. He found himself a good grip on the mech's hull before going for the battery on its back, but of course his presence alerted the Pilot inside who shook wildly to try and get him off. Alan managed to yank the battery out of its socket and then jumped to the front of the Tone to kick off of its face. As he did so, he took one of the Firestars he had scavenged earlier, ignited it, and flung at the Tone's optics.

The Titan stumbled back, blinded by the burning ordinance as Alan ordered the Spectres to rodeo the Ion next to them. The Pilot charged the blinded Tone as he watched the indicated telling him of his Titan's position and seconds later, it crashed down and crushed the Militia Titan with a loud scream over open comms.

Just as the other Titans took notice of the new target, Alan made it into the shield deployed by his Titan and jumped up inside with the aid of his jump kit. After installing the battery to replenish shields, the Pilot could finally get comfortable in his seat as Evi came back online. "W-Welcome back, Pilot." She stuttered, bringing up what displays were functioning at the time which were only the bare minimum being both his weapon's and Evi's structural status. "Warning, hull integrity at 60%, recommend w-withdraw and- and- Commence offensive operations, Pilot!"

"Christ, I hope this isn't going to be too big of a problem." Alan said to himself, "Just hold together for now, Evi, we've got a fight on our hands."

"Af- Affirmative, Pilot- _Alan Stassov._ Relinquishing controls to you- Be aware." She said to him through the glitches in her speech.

Caught in a pincer, the two remaining Militia Titans fought back to back as Sloan and Alan went on the offensive, Ion against Ion, Tone against Brute. The Atlas-class Titan put up a shield wall, but Alan wasn't going to let it stop him. He dashed around the side and into the trees which he used as cover. It was a tight squeeze, but thanks to Alan using the smallest of the three, standard chassis, he could manage, all while firing the occasional missile through the gaps between the trees, that was when Alan called for the Spectres to launch their ambush. The robotic infantry climbed up the Titan, however they could, and did whatever possible to break down the Titan from weapon fire to tearing off armor and plating with their bare hands. Alan was quite amazed at how little this feature for them was used. To be fair, he would never had known about it until long ago when the Militia led by the traitorous Vice Admiral led an assault on one of the I.M.C.'s robotics factories. It was there where he watched a team of Spectres just tear apart a Militia Atlas with without mercy and with ease…

Putting the pressure on the two remaining enemies, Alan emerged from the safety of his wooden cover and charged the Tone he was facing while on his 10 o'clock, Sloan was easily able to make an aggressive push against her fellow Ion. The Tone was now starting to show heavy signs of wear and tear, blackened char marks from where Alan's missiles had hit, exposing its internal structure, _"That is it, I.M.C. dog! Have this as a gift." _The Militia Pilot exclaimed, but to his surprise, Alan moved faster than the Militia Pilot could act. As he was about to launch a salvo of tracking missiles, Alan closed the distance and grabbed the Tone's Acolyte Pod and tore it off before delivering a swift kick to the Tone's torso. When the Tone fell to the ground, it's ally Ion turned to try and protect him, but the Ion too was closed in on by Sloan who was waiting for just this kind of moment. As Alan's had his Brute launch up into the air with its jets, Sloan pulled her rival Ion back and delivered a precision laser strike that drilled through what was left of the enemy Ion's chest, killing the Pilot inside, that's when Alan finally landed on top of the fallen Tone with a mighty stomp of Evi's legs which crushed the Militia Pilot.

_"That's yours?"_ Sloan broke the silence of victory, commenting on Alan's considerably weaker Titan over comms, _"Bit borin'. Now, let's move on and take a peek at whatever it is those Militia are doin' before-"_

She was cut off by someone else with a noticeable South African accent, _"Oi, Sloan, change of plans." _Said Blisk to his subordinate, _"Regroup and prepare to transport the package, priority one. I've already dispatched a Widow to pick you up within the hour."_ The man said firmly.

_"Will do," _Sloan replied.

"Do you have orders for me, Sergeant- er, Commander- sir?" Alan corrected himself. He was surprised to find that he still hadn't gotten used to the other man's promotion long ago, now that he was the literal commander of a mercenary outfit, things just got a little confusing for Alan.

_"Yeah, don't die. You're better than that, Pilot." _Blisk answered. Looks like the whole outfit took a bit after their leader…

_"Ahem," _Vanessa chimed in on a separate channel, _"What he means is that you'll be continuing your mission to the Interstellar Beacon. When you get there, report your findings, sabotage if possible, and fall back for pick up."_

"Copy that, over and out." Alan acknowledged.

_"Well now, it was short, but I suppose here's were we part ways." _Sloan stated, _"After seeing that toothpick easily take on an Atlas, I might even give you a recommendation if ya' survive. Though I doubt I'll be seeing you again anytime soon."_

"No 'good luck' or 'farewell'?"

_"Hah!" _She simply said before leaving Alan to himself. After watching her go and shaking his head, the I.M.C. Pilot thought that he probably should have asked what the package was, perhaps he'll get around to asking later, but right now he had to get back to work.

* * *

**A.N.: -**

**To Bunk: Why, thank you for the compliments!**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	20. Chapter 20: Growing Embers

"Growing Embers"

Alan pushed through the thick branches and other vegetation that got in his way on his mission to scout out the occupied communications beacon. Slowly the plant life had been giving way to more rock and sand however, it wasn't ending soon enough. After quietly taking out a few other foot patrols- as 'quietly' as one could in a Titan even of Evi's size- the Pilot was all but certain that the Militia's officers would be alerted to his presence on the outskirts of their newly conquered territory and he believed an interception force would be both inevitable and imminent, but until then, Alan just kept moving forward.

Of course, the I.M.C. Pilot wasn't blind to the few carriers hovering stationary over his intended destination, but so far, he could only see a handful of Militia dropships ferrying back and forth between the surface and the space-worthy vessels.

"Evi, what's your operational status?" Alan asked his slightly broken Titan. Perhaps he shouldn't have shut off the safety limits in the first place, but there was nothing he could do about that now. Hopefully it _was_ necessary, but for now he focused on the mission at hand.

"Operational status: Unknown- W-Welcome back, Pilot. Scanning terrain…" She said, once more showing her broken OS, "Vantage point located for max- most efficient combat effective-iveness. Recommend tactical withd- offensive."

"Right!" Alan said with a sarcastic tone and a roll of his eyes, "Good to see you're mentally sound."

"Pilot!" She exclaimed, pausing for a moment as it had caught Alan off guard. The two stood quietly, the Pilot expecting to be told something, but not receiving word from Evi.

"…You gonna-" Alan began before immediately being interrupted.

"No results found."

"Whatever, just try not to act up when we get back into combat."

"Negat- Affirmative, Pilot- User Identified: _Alan Stassov_."

The aforementioned man shook his head and continued the trek onward. Alan wasn't quite sure where he was going without directions from anyone above, but as the terrain slowly grew rockier and the massive pillars started to rise, he began to regret all the choices that led him here. Assuming his map was correct, the only way for him to reach his destination now was to climb and that was a risk he did _not_ want to take, especially with a Titan that he felt could give out on him at any moment. "_Miss Fortune,_ I may need a lift to get to the Beacon, how copy?"

"W-Warning, hostile Titanfall detected! Caution!" Evi alerted Alan whose sights were immediately set to the more or less empty sky above him. Nothing? It was nothing. The Militia carrier had been shielded from Alan's view by the rocks, but either way he didn't see any scorching meteor of metal headed toward him.

"You are not helping!" Alan shouted at Evi before immediately being tackled to one of the cliff-faces by a furious looking Tone.

_"This is for my team."_ A woman said over comms, metal fist pulled back for a punch. Alan was quick to duck out of the way as the punch crushed the rock where his Titan's center would have been and chunks of rock scattered about from the heavy impact. As Alan made his escape and bought distance, he fired a few missiles that locked on to the newly arrived Titan which hit their mark with ease.

"Alright, I'm tired of this, who the hell is it this time?" Alan, now a little annoyed, asked, still keeping his distance and seeking cover from the deadly cannon the Tone carried with it.

_"I am Iva Cole, a Pilot of the Militia, and I will _not_ let you claim anymore lives!" _She boldly claimed, firing chaotic shots wherever she thought she could scratch Alan's Titan.

"Can't say I've heard of you." Alan half-mocked, not really sure who this woman was and what she was rambling about, but she was an enemy and that was all he needed to know right now.

_"You don't remember that frozen hellhole called a planet? Well then, don't worry, you won't have to after I'm done here." _'Iva' finished before both the Pilots started their battle.

Ducking between pillars and rocks, Alan was fortunate enough to keep from being hit directly, but his shields were starting to waver in the face of the explosive ammunition, so, Alan planned his next move. Evi wasn't in the best of shape, and there was no telling when he would be resupplied, so his best choice of action was to use his weaponry sparingly with the bulk of the work being a dangerous melee and using his vortex shield to redirect the projectiles.

As he was thinking, the cannon fire stopped and, in its place, came the slowly increasing frequency of footsteps shaking the ground it walked. Now, Alan had to predict which side it was on, but before he could come up with a clear answer, the Tone smashed through the rock column he was using for cover and both Titans skid across the ground. Evi acted out on her own, igniting her jets and pulling away from the Tone with the aid of a great kick to the Atlas's chest. Up went a shield wall and then a barrage of missiles that were immediately caught and sent back at their owner before Alan and his Titan were up on their feet again.

_"Come on, quit runnin'!"_ The Militia Pilot yelled.

"If you insist." Alan replied. He charged forward, dropping his weapon at his side as to not let it get in the way. The Pilot and his evasive Titan easily were able to dodge the incoming fire and close the distance as the Tone slowly backed away. He held a number of missiles and cannon rounds with his vortex shield and as soon as he passed the decaying shield wall, he unleased the stolen firepower right back at the Tone who had little choice other than to take the brunt of the hit even after trying to side-step a number of the projectiles.

Following up his offensive, Alan then shoved the Tone to the ground where he had almost free reign over it, but he was then thrown over and onto his back. Both Titans were on the ground, racing to get up first, and as expected, Alan would be the first to get back on the move while the Tone was just barely getting its balance back. Taking advantage of the disoriented enemy, Alan threw two punches then a swift sweep of his legs to trip the Tone to the ground again. _"You bastard!" _The woman yelled, as her Tone's right arm was pulled back and she was pinned to the ground with a foot to her back. Not letting the opportunity go to waste, Alan departed his Titan and rushed to claim another battery for himself as the mad woman went on a rant, _"Don't you dare!" _She exclaimed as the battery was pulled out and the arm was torn off. The armless Tone twisted in an attempt to crush Alan underneath it, but he had jumped out of the way just in time, _"If not me, then the others! The others will hunt you!" _She stated as her spare arm was swatted aside by Evi, _"They will find you!" _She continued as Evi put a foot on the flailing arm and a leg before pulling a closed fist back, _"And they'll kill-"_ Her claim was cut short by Evi punching right through the Titan's hatch and crushing the woman inside.

"_Your voice is tiresome_ for my Pilot and I." Evi said, the first half in a rather menacing tone.

"I'm not even going to ask." Alan said as he climbed back inside Evi.

"W-Welcome back Pilot, do- do enjoy your stay." She greeted her user as the man installed the spare battery. He had to admit, this fight was rather easy, though he was not going to fool himself into thinking any future conflict would be the same. Still, there was one more problem: Scaling the cliff.

"Evi, structural status on your limbs." The Pilot asked as he approached the rockface. It was a fairly steep climb even if he were to do it on foot, but he needed his Titan up there for the worst-case scenario.

"One hundred percent, Pilot. You can use this-s units hover capabilities to aid in your cli-climb."

"Are you sure?" Alan questioned the stuttering machine, but got no reply. With a heavy sigh and a hand to the face of his helmet, Alan trusted in his Titan and slowly began the ascent upward, "The sooner we get through this mission, the sooner we can get you fixed."

"Pilot. Hull integrity holding strong at '55%'." The Titan reported.

"Yeah, good to know." He said.

After several minutes of climbing, both the Titan and Pilot made it to flat ground once again. The surrounding view was thick with a cloud-like cover with only man-made sires and communication dishes sticking up into the air. Continuing down the path to investigate the lost garrison, Alan only found half a number of ruined Titans and parts scattered about, all blackened and burned with signs of heavy combat. He looked around for anyone, _anyone at all_, but no one was left at the beacon. However, above him, the roar of engines picked up and he could see the Militia carriers were already departing for a new target.

"_Miss Fortune, _come in, we've got a problem. We're too late and the Militia are on the move!" Alan reported as he rushed over to scavenge what he could. There was going to be some big battle soon, the Pilot could almost feel it, "I need a pick up for both myself and my Titan."

"_The must be after the package…" _He heard Vanessa mutter over comms, _"Roger, Alan, but I don't have a transport big enough to carry your Titan, I'll get one rerouted to your position as quick as I can, but that may take some time." _She told the Pilot. There was the mention of it again.

"Hold on, just what exactly _am I doing_?" Alan questioned his commander, but the woman ignored him and gave him new orders.

"New orders for you, Pilot, you'll be transported to the I.M.S. _Thermopylae_. Your new objectives are two-fold: defend all I.M.C. assets, and crush these terrorists. Over, and out."

"Aye, Commander." Alan reluctantly acknowledged. Now he was just suspicious of what exactly the I.M.C. needed protected so badly, he didn't particularly care what it was, he doubted it'd be anything serious. New model Titan? New weaponry? New technology? Whatever it was, he'd get an answer one way or another, but until then, he'd comply with orders.

* * *

**A.N.:**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	21. Chapter 21: Noble Defenders

"Noble Defenders"

Aboard one of the newly designed dropships, the 'Widow', Alan sat patiently inside his Titan awaiting to be transported to the I.M.S _Thermopylae. _The trip itself was peaceful, but over the comm channels, over the battle sites still fresh with wrecked Titans and fallen bodies, the war had officially come to Typhon.

Alan was anxious, continuously unloading and reloading his weapons, making count of his additional equipment which was now missing one Firestar, and checking on Evi's systems even if he couldn't fix anything at the moment, nor could he anyways as he wasn't sure how. There had been no further contact from the _Miss Fortune_, no orders from higher command nor the Apex Predators, and as Alan's transport slowly flew along the outskirts of the airbase being hit by the Militia, he could see that the terrorists were now leaving empty handed.

The Widow tried to stay out of sight, although the Militia carriers were preoccupied with assaulting the I.M.C. installation, they couldn't be too careful. _"Stand by, Pilot, we're ten minutes out from the _Thermopylae_._ _AO might be hot when we get there; I'm being told even the ships at drydock are being forced into action."_ The Widow's pilot told its passenger.

Without warning, the thick protective doors had a hole blown right, clean, through them.

"_Taking fire, taking fire, this is Voodoo 3-7, we've been hit!" _The ship's pilot said as they could feel another shot hit the Widow's aft, _"Rear, starboard stabilizer's gone red! Mayday, mayday, may-" _The pilot was cut off as the third shot rang out.

"Shit, we've gotta' bail!" Alan yelled. Without anyone to get the doors open, the Pilot had to force it open himself. Clenching his Evi's fist, he began hammering away at the heavy doors as the Widow's interior flashed red and alarms went off. The top half of the doors came off its hinges, but just as Alan started on kicking down the bottom half, the thick, green canopy of the treetops rushed into view and seconds later the Widow hit the ground and the Pilot's vision went black.

\- ( o ) -

_"We've got multiple contacts, three Vanguards, four no- five, six- It's the whole damn S.R.S.!" _A panickedPilot said as he watched the Militia-made Titans drop down not far outside the perimeter walls. The heavy turrets on top of the walls laid down suppressing fire on the Vanguards but it did little more than inconvenience them as each of the Titans hid behind the very barriers meant to funnel them into a kill zone.

"'Paladin 6', fall back behind the entrance doors, raise hell upon anyone who gets passed us." A man sitting in a lightly decorated Ronin ordered a nearby Legion.

_"Will do, Dom."_ The Legion confirmed.

"'4', '5', be his Vanguard, provide supporting fire when possible." The Pilot continued, "Attention all units, if you're not a 'Frontline-Chassis' stick to the rear, everyone else, up to the front!"

_"Where's our fire support, Captain?" _Another Pilot asked the man taking command.

"It will come, we just have to hold the line for the _Draconis_!"

"_Incoming!"_

"Everyone, brace!" Dominic shouted as the sheer volume of missiles blanketed the sky before turning down on them. The Ronin found cover wherever he could, but that would not dissuade the explosives from peppering the area with fire and explosions.

When the dust and debris settled, the Pilot rose to his feet, the chunks of rubble sliding off his Titan's chassis as he looked around to take in the state of affairs. The missiles outright wiped out a few unlucky Pilots and absolutely demolishing the walls and defensive turrets leaving only them the only ones standing in the way of a Militia victory.

"_Christ, we can't bloody do this!"_

"_It just _had_ to be Vanguards…"_

"Everyone, pull yourselves together! You are free to engage, make them struggle for every inch of dirt! Pilots, you will _not_ roll over and cower, if these outlaws thirst for blood then you _will_ drown them in their own!" The man exclaimed. "All units Full! Force! Forward!"

He didn't have any good ranged weapons on hand, so he and a handful of others stayed back and could do nothing to help their comrades. As the number of allies started to shrink, the Pilot could hear their cries, curses, and yells clearer than before, there was no denying the Militia a crushing victory. As the battle ahead of them raged, a Tone rested a hand on the smaller Ronin's shoulder, _"Captain, they're almost on top of us." _The other man told Dominic in a calm voice.

"Thank you, Nate. Gentlemen," He began before lightening the mood, "And ladies, Luna, Jasmine, I'm not forgetting about you two. We stand here today, we die here today, but we die buying time for the rest of humanity to see an end to this war."

"_I count thirty seconds." _Jasmine said from her Northstar.

"Paladins, what is our goal?" He yelled.

"_Not for money, not for fame, for honor!" _The team said in unison.

"it has certainly been an honor fighting with the rest of you."

Despite his bold battle cry, one by one the I.M.C. Titans were being cut down with relative ease. Each Pilot fought valiantly, but for one reason or another, the Militia had the upper hand and worst of all, they were winning. _"They've breached the walls, repeat, they've breached-"_

It was time.

A damaged Vanguard came into sight, and the Ronin was quick to act, swiftly dashing forward and swinging his sword with one wide slash that knocked the Vanguard's chaingun out of its hands. The second swing swiped at the Militia Titan's legs and finally the killing blow was to stab the Vanguard through its chassis, killing the Militia Pilot inside.

"_Watch it, hostiles on the left flank! Sorry, that's going to be all from me, farewell Pala-" _Said Nate who was interrupted by static. The Ronin Titan unloaded his Leadwall into the face of another Vanguard, but the weapon was swatted out of his hands. The Vanguard he was facing tore off his Titan's canopy, but with the aid of an arc wave from Luna, and a mighty kick from him, he managed to escape.

"_Consider it thanks and payback for last time, Dom." _The woman said as her own Titan was riddled with gunfire before falling to its back. Dominic grabbed the Titan and returned the favor by tearing off the Vanguard's own canopy, he then grabbed his Hammond sidearm and shot the Pilot inside, but after he killed her, he looked around to see more Militia keep pouring in. They just kept coming.

"_They're getting too close for my range! Multiple missile locks on me. Oh shi-" _Jasmineexclaimed as a hail of missiles obliterated her Titan in the sky, its remains freefalling to the ground below.

The Ronin was all that was left outside. He grabbed his sword and slashed at an approaching Vanguard. Another of the Militia Titans came up behind him and kicked the back of his leg, forcing him to a knee, but Dominic used his phase shift to bring himself up and when he reemerged he thrusted the sword into the Vanguard's back before delivering an arc-wave to the first Vanguard, but he couldn't keep up the assault. A third Vanguard grabbed his right arm and tore it off and after that, the Ronin with a mangled leg kept himself up by using the sword as a crutch. He looked up and could see two Vanguards take aim at his exposed interior, behind him, he could hear the roar of a Predator Cannon, but he knew it was too late. However, underneath his battered helmet he welcomed death with a smile and open arms. _"Too bad." _He thought, as his world began to fade when the Vanguard's open fired, just before he hit the ground, the man apologized to an absent Alan whom he told he would pass on a few tricks and skills of his, but apparently fate had other plans. It was such a shame; he was looking forward to another sparing match too.

\- ( o ) -

"Warning, in-internal damage detected. Warning, internal damage detected. Pilot not responding, assuming control. P-Pil- Alan, outnumb-numbered two to one." Alan could hear Evi say. He could feel the light stomping of a pair of Titans around him. The Pilot struggled to open his eyes, but he could see nothing but the dark interior of the crashed Widow, where its only source of light were the holes made in the hull's side. The ship creaked as he could hear the steps of a Titan stand upon the ship. His head hurt like hell, he could feel a trickle of blood running down his face, and his body ached from the impact of the crash. He could hear the doors above him being grabbed and when a ray of light shined on him, his eyes shot open and Evi leaped into the air using her hover jets. Once the Pilot saw that he was in the air and that there was a Ronin and a Northstar below him, he took manual control of his Titan. Painted in Militia colors of green and orange, the two new Stryders fell back several meters and waited for Alan to land.

"_Would you look at that, he still lives." _One of them said, with a familiar, feminine voice, _"Let's get this over with and kill him now."_

"_Hold it sis, last time he was willing to use a human shield to block my shots. He'll do the same to you."_ The other said.

"I don't have time for this, out of my way!" Alan demanded, grabbing his quad-rocket launcher.

"_Ah. A whole team was made and dedicated to killing you, Stassov, you've made plenty of enemies." _The first woman said.

"_And after our first loss, it's clear that _one_ Pilot isn't enough to bring you down." _Finished the second.

There was a tense silence in the air, but this time, it would be Alan who was the one to act first, and he had to pick his target carefully. If training and simulations taught him anything it would be that both these Stryder variants had little defensive capabilities, so, he would need to take advantage of that fact. "Pilot, you are in little condition to fight." Evi told her Pilot.

"No, I _need_ to do this myself." He said. Truth was, he was almost certain that Evi would not be capable of fighting these two on her own, had it been only one, then perhaps she could do it.

Alan locked on to the Northstar and fired a string of five missiles, all of which managed to hit their target before the sniper could get into the air. Not dismissing the Ronin who phased away, Alan popped his electric smoke preemptively before continuing to fire on the Northstar that charged its railgun and shot at him, but the I.M.C. Pilot caught it with his vortex shield. "Enemy Titan at our six," Evi alerted her user, allowing the Pilot to spin around and fire the caught projectile right at the Ronin. Unfortunately, that exposed his back to a cluster missile and a weak shot from the Northstar's railgun. "H-Hull integrity at- _85%_\- 35%. Be a-aware, Pilot." Evi noted. Alan ignored the first number and kept the second in mind as he dashed out of range of the cluster missile. The Ronin returned for a slash but narrowly missed its swipe as Alan turned and fired a set of four missiles from his launcher at the Northstar but it missed. Unable to turn his weapon in time, Alan based the Ronin with the end of his weapon before unloading another set of four missiles at the Ronin.

Meanwhile, the Northstar closed the distance and launched a pair of circular discs at either side of Alan. He was curious at first, acting out on the drilled instinct in him to try and avoid them but when he tried to dash away, magnetic clamps clung to him and held him in place. "Arc wave incoming." Evi reported as the electric wave hit him and blurred his vision. Next, the shotgun-like Leadwall fired into his chest. The first shot hit, but the rest were swiftly caught by the vortex shield and shot back at the Ronin. Behind him, he could hear the Northstar hover and charge its weapon, but Alan timed his movements just right and when he heard the Militia Titan's weapon hit max charge, he too hovered into the air as it shot and took off the Ronin's arm.

"_Kuya!" _The Northstar's Pilot yelled as Alan grabbed the Titan by the arms. As they fell Alan made sure he was on top of the Northstar and crushed its legs when they hit the ground. He started pulling on its arms when the hatch blew open, _"Need to eject!" _She yelled as she flew past Alan's face. Not stopping for another second, he grabbed the fallen Northstar's rail gun with his left hand, spun around and smashed it against the incoming Ronin.

"Pilot, communications are clearing up." Evi said as she started receiving the transmissions.

"_-tia just broke through second defensive line! They're going for the _Draconis_!" _Alan heard.

"We better get over there quick!" Alan said as he began his sprint in the direction of the airbase. In a flash of light, the disarmed Ronin skid to a halt in front of Alan.

"_You will _not _get in the way this time!" _The Ronin's Pilot proclaimed.

"I do not have time for this!" Alan growled, grabbing the Ronin by its side and shoving her into a tree where she slid down and could barely get up. "Keep out of my way, your sickening insurgent group already committed the greatest atrocity by destroying Demeter and murdering millions of innocents, you_ shall not do so again!_" Alan yelled as he continued on his way. That's when the bad memories started surfacing again, he was a little disappointed in himself that he wasn't 'recovered' from them, but there was nothing he hated more than the Militia's 'righteous cause'. They'll definitely rewrite history and tell the Frontier that they were the heroes, but Alan would _never _let go of the fact that they stood on a mountain of bodies and dared to call it the _moral high ground_. Alan broadcasted on all nearby I.M.C. channels, "This is Alan Stassov of the I.M.S. _Miss Fortune_ to _Draconis_, I am enroute as reinforcements, E.T.A. ten minutes at best."

* * *

**A.N.: -**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	22. Chapter 22: The Final Hurdle

"The Final Hurdle"

There looked to be a light at the end of the maze of trees, but Alan skid to a halt just short of falling off the edge of a cliff and on to an open field of scorched Titan hulls and chunks of rubble from the ruined wall on the far side of the clearing. The frontline of the I.M.C. Airbase was deathly silent, the guns had ceased, the defenders were missing, and the skies were all but clear.

"Warning-ing, Pilot, hostile Titan approaching." Evi notified her Pilot. As Alan turned around, he saw a burning, damaged, speeding Ronin smash into him and shove the both of them off the cliff. Hitting the ground with a heavy thud, Alan's Titan was quick to throw off the Ronin while the Pilot himself tried to recuperate from the sudden fall.

"Damn, you are relentless!" Alan exclaimed as the Ronin was already on its feet and pressing the attack. The Militia Titan sent an arc wave, which Alan dashed to his right to dodge, then came a second arc wave which had Alan dash to his left to dodge, and finally the distance between the two closed before Alan threw a powerful punch into the opposing Titan. The I.M.C. Pilot was sick of dealing with the Ronin and stood over the fallen Stryder, but before he could do anymore, he was alerted to a barrage of rockets launching into the sky and spread out to pepper the area he stood in. Crouching to a knee, Alan made sure his profile was a small as could be, even if it meant unintentionally protecting the Ronin he was on top of, and with his vortex shield he managed to intercept the missiles that would have otherwise been direct hits. Alan redirected them to the side before rising to his feet again and from the smoke and ash, from behind the crumbling walls that defended the airbase, a Vanguard Titan emerged, ready for a fight.

_"I gave you a chance to run away, but of course you had to be some noble savior of the I.M.C. Look where that's brought you." _Alan heard a familiar voice call out to him. Alan readied his weapon against the new Titan, the first Titan he had no experience with outside of a handful of simulations. _"it's a shame my own Titan was destroyed during your damn ambush, this Militia-made, glorified Atlas is just that. Intelligence never could tell when information was fake or not." _The man, Reidar, finished as a flash of light emerged by the Vanguard's side. Alan made a quick look to his feet to see the Ronin Titan was missing.

_"We can take him together."_ The Ronin's Pilot suggested to Reidar.

_"You and your sister faced a man who was already one foot in the grave," _He began as the Vanguard kicked the Ronin to the ground, _"Yet you failed."_ He continued as he finished off the Ronin himself. After a quick scream and a small explosion, the Vanguard continued, _"My outfit does not take too kindly to failure. As for you, Alan Stassov, allow us to continue our duel. No support, no interference, no mercy."_

Alan gulped down his shock and disgust at the sight of a man killing his own allies, he would not allow this to stand! "I already put your predecessor down, you will be no different."

The other man laughed, _"The proclaimed '_Reaper_', was weak, he obsessed over being the greatest, about being 'perfect' in his record, and that was what ultimately led to his demise. I do not make those mistakes, but I'll humor you."_ Reidar said, _"There's a Widow dropship that's supposed to be waiting for me just up ahead. Kill me, and it's all yours. Go home, go rescue the Draconis, it hasn't taken off yet, hell, I'll even give you the codes to board one of our carriers and let you loose on the crew if you would like. But enough talk, we're wasting daylight. You have the first move, Pilot."_

Alan rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. It was do or die here: A Vanguard against his already worn Brute. Things weren't looking like they were in his favor. "P-Pilot, rec-recommend tactical withdraw-aw." Evi suggested. Had it been just another match, he would have complied, had his Titan been on the brink of destruction, he would have run, but right now, he refused to. The odds were against him, so what, his life rarely went in his favor. His family, dead, former friends, dead, even his old squad he was forced to kill. So why the hell would he cower away now?

Alan charged the Vanguard with as much speed as he could muster, evading what gunfire he could while catching the rest with his vortex shield. He locked onto the Vanguard and fired off two missiles which were caught with the Militia Titan's own vortex shield. Not being deterred, let loose a barrage from his quad rocket launcher. Caught by the shield. Alan fired again, and again, but on the third shot he noticed the protective shield glow red and dissipate, sending the missiles right back to him, but that was just what he was hoping for. Alan caught the clump of missiles with his own vortex shield and, knowing that the Vanguard in front of him no longer had a defensive option, hurled them back in force. From the heavy smoke and large explosion, the Vanguard reemerged and grabbed Alan's Titan. The Vanguard itself was damaged, but it was nothing like what Alan had hoped. The enemy Titan pressed forward and slammed Alan into the ground and readied its acolyte pods for a killing blow, but Alan did the same and the two simultaneously fired, Evi being barely a single second faster in pulling the trigger on her own. As the rockets exchanged, both Titans lost their missile pods and were forced to back off from each other, "Warning, shie-ields are down, Pilot." Evi warned. Fortunately for Alan, the Vanguard had lost its both its offensive weaponry which immediately turned the battle to his favor, so he believed.

As the two charged each other again, Alan opened fire with what little ammo he had, saving one rocket before engaging in a brawl. Now he was starting to see signs of damage on the Vanguard, it wasn't enough to boost his confidence, but it was definitely enough to let him know that it was start. The Vanguard threw the first punch, which crashed into Alan's side and had the smaller Titan slam into the ground, but the small Brute got up again and swept its leg to throw the Vanguard off its balance but the attempt to bring it down had failed. The two Titans then clashed into a grapple with the larger of the two having the clear upper hand. "Pilot, I am out- of- Of-Offensive options offline." Evi reported to her Pilot who was struggling and losing in the match of raw strength.

Slowly Alan was being shoved back into what remains of the protective wall, Evi's structure was creaking, he could hear the very strain as warning signs lit up and wires started to fall loose, things got so bad the even a small portion of his screen view went offline and fell to static. He had to think, think of how to escape the killing grasp of the Vanguard when he heard a little 'clink' on his chest. Alan looked down to see the two frag grenades and Firestar rattle together as the interior of the Titan shook, then he looked back at the menacing optic of the Vanguard before an idea came to mind. "Evi, open the hatch!" He yelled to his Titan.

"Warning, Warning, Warn- Ov-Overriding, good luck, Pil-Alan." She said as she forced open her canopy. In one clean throw, Alan ignited his last Firestar and flung it an angle to where it hit the eye of the Vanguard dead on. Then, as the enemy Titan was blinded by the burning thermite that slowly seared its hull. Alan jumped from his seat and climbed the Vanguard with the aid of his jump kit. He reached the top, but to his horror, there was no battery wait to be stolen. Just as he realized this, the Vanguard shoved Evi through a portion of the wall, and fell on top of the still resisting Brute. Alan too, fell to the ground with the rubble scattering around him. From his back, he looked at the Vanguard that was now trying to tear off the stubborn Stryder's arm, but from his view he could recognize the sight of three batteries on the Vanguard's lower-left back. The Pilot used his grapple to quickly pull himself close, then grabbed onto one of the handles and pulled on it with all the strength he had. When the first battery came out, the Vanguard turned its attention to the Pilot at its feet, but Evi was quick to remind the Militia Pilot not to ignore her by using her hover jets to bring the both of them into the air. Alan watched the Vanguard punch Evi, then again, and again, before the Brute finally let go and the larger Titan fell and crashed into the concrete below. Unfortunately for the two of them, the Vanguard and its user were quick to get up. Evi rushed over to kick the Vanguard back further before it hit a wall. Alan on the other hand was quick to notice the two fuel tanks on either side of the enemy Titan and drew his pistol, shooting either of the tanks before the Vanguard could get up and running again. He then took his two grenades, unpinned them, and threw them at the growing pool of fuel and Vanguard sitting within it. Meanwhile, Evi picked up her fallen quad rocket launcher and fired its last shot at the explosive tanks.

The Vanguard scrambled to its feet in an attempt to escape, but the ensuing explosion but was engulfed in the flames. Alan turned to Evi for a job well done, but then a hook with an attached cable latched onto Evi. Alan turned around to see the destroyed pieces of the Vanguard scattered about and the fire burning hot and bright from the added fuel, but from the flames emerged a horribly injured man. His right arm and were exposed, the flesh black and red from horrible burns, helmet blackened and visor cracked, blood dripped drop by drop as Reidar pulled himself forward with the grapple and landed on Evi, kicking off Evi and swiping a leg at Alan before throwing back an arc grenade at Evi which stunned her. "Should've tried harder!" The man said with a raspy voice.

Reidar followed up his failed kick with a punch to Alan's face, then another to his stomach but that was deflected. Alan kicked Reidar's leg and grabbed the other man's helmet before smashing his knee into it. The Militia Pilot stumbled back and shook off the hit with a growl. The Militia Pilot pulled a syringe from one of his pouches and stabbed his leg with it. In an instant Alan could see the man's body relax and ease up, but it was clear what was going to happen next.

Now drugged up on Stim, Reidar charged forward at a rapid speed and engaged Alan in a fist fight. The latter of the two couldn't keep up the pace and faced punishment for it, punch to the face, stomach, kick to the leg, knee to the chest, even being picked up and thrown against a wall. Alan managed to dodge a punch that hit the wall behind him, leaving a small crack in it as Reidar continued his assault. The stim started to wear off, but with his last bit of enhanced energy, the Militia Pilot grabbed Alan by the throat and raised him up against the wall and off his feet.

Alan choked for air as his hands panickily scrambled as if grabbing the air around him would help him breath. As he looked into the trembling ma before him, Alan's vision slowly fell to a haze, he couldn't so much as think strait as each second slowly made him grow weaker and weaker. He dug his fingers into his foe's arms, trying to pry himself free but to no avail, he tried to hit the man with a weak fist but of course it did nothing. "Do you feel it, Alan?" Reidar began, "That's fear. You so desperately deserve it." He finished as Alan strength started to waver. The edge of his vision slowly went from a fuzzy haze to black, with the last amount of energy Alan had he tried to think. Alan's only sight was of the other man's sheathed knife that he could barely make out, but something inside him clicked and that was enough. The rest of his body operated on instinct, desperate to survive and save itself, so it mustered all the strength he had left in him. Alan let go of one of his assailant's arms and grabbed the handle of his own knife, then in one swift slice Alan cut across Reidar's stomach, surprising the man who ease up on his grip around Alan's neck. With just a tiny amount of air slipping through and giving Alan that much more energy, he flipped the knife in a reverse grip and stabbed through Reidar's visor.

Alan fell to the ground as the Militia Pilot dropped him and stumbled back in a scream, "You fucking-" Reidar swore, grabbing the knife and yanking it out of his eye, he was still standing, "I will not be defeated. I will _not_ be defeated by a hound like you, _Alan Stassov_!" He exclaimed before charging forward with the knife in hand. Seeing the charging Pilot, Alan grabbed his pistol fired twice times into Reidar's chest. The man dropped the knife and continued walking forward weakly, but he only managed a few extra steps before death finally claimed him. The Militia Pilot fell to his knees before collapsing to his side permanently. Taking deep breaths, Alan picked himself up as he remembered what he was here for.

* * *

**A.N:**

**As always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


	23. Chapter 23: Old Blood & Fresh Wounds

"Old Blood & Fresh Wounds"

With engines to full and a slow gain on the Draconis, Alan could only watch the rest of the battle play out before him. Just briefly he watched the last pieces of a Militia carrier crash into the mountains below while the battleship designated the 'I.M.S. _Malta' _open fired on the Crow dropships that still remained. He couldn't help but smile as the Militia vessel eventually finished off itself with a second explosion after it had crashed to a halt and left the Pilot's sight. Meanwhile, suspiciously, the Malta's guns went offline one by one until all but the point defenses went offline.

_"Thermopylae to Malta, we've got a new contact, another Widow, possibly Militia commandeered." _One of the crew over comms on the Thermopylae reported to its larger, more powerful counterpart.

"Negative, negative, all I.M.C. vessels, this is Pilot Alan Stassov of the I.M.S. _Miss Fortune_, I'm a little late to the action."

_"Hold." _He heard someone order over comms, _"Registering friendly IFF, welcome back, Pilot! He really did it then?" _He heard with the last part more or less whispered or simply not directed at him.

"Thermopylae, where's the rest of our supporting fleet? Over." Alan asked after noticing the distinct lack of additional ships that were supposed to be aiding in the defense of the planet, his own home ship included.

_"Tied up in orbit with another batch of Militia carriers, but there's no time for that, the _Malta_ has been boarded by Militia-contracted Pilots, we need to take it back! Remain on standby while we prepare a boarding party to retake our ship!" _The man over _Thermopylae's_ comms told Alan.

"Copy that, headed remaining on standby. What of the _Draconis_?" Alan asked.

_"She's taking care of the Ark as we speak."_

_"We've got an enemy Vanguard on _Malta's _hull!"_

_ "Voodoo-01, Viper's on station…"_

_ "Ground those terrorists, Predator!" _Alan heard in a rapid succession.

"At least I know someone can take care of it." Alan said, setting the Widow to auto-pilot and setting back to watch the Crows go down one by one.

_"Let's hope so," _Alan heard the familiar voice of Sloan, _"Welcome back, enjoy your little detour, yeah?"_

"How could I, you left me in the middle of it." Alan retorted smugly, before temporarily muting his side of the comms, "Evi, Information on the Ark, now."

"Information restricted." His Titan reported. Sadly, she was no longer combat capable after the last fight with her greatest challenge. Hull integrity reached a new low, her left arm was barely holding together which meant she could not properly wield her weapons, not that she had any ammunition left to begin with, and all that was left were her few defensive options: A Vortex Shield, and an electric smoke deployer. Frankly, Alan was surprised that a Titan of her model made it this far.

"As far as I'm aware, now's not the time for 'restricted'." Alan argued, finally upset at being constantly left in the dark. Meanwhile, Alan watched a few friendly Widows deploy a pair of Scorches to aid Viper in his battle.

"Par-ra-ameters, accepted." Evi began, "The power source n-nicknamed, 'The Ark' was developed by I.M.C. researches to power a recently c-classified project. Further information is restricted to only senior levels officers and staff associated with the project."

"Yeah, 'classified'." Alan muttered as he looked up at the curious structure composed of many circular rings embedded into the mountains ahead of them.

_"Alright, Pilot, boarding party is prepped and-"_

_ "Viper-01 lost control, losing control. Going down, mayday, mayday, going down!" _All I.M.C. personnel heard from the Apex Predator, the others looked on in horror, but a minute later they were relieved when the Northstar Pilot made a vicious return and crashed into the Vanguard standing triumphantly on top of the _Malta._

_ "Does anyone have a clear shot?" _Someone else asked

_ "Negative, negative, focus on reclaiming the _Malta. _Pilot, this is _Thermopylae _prepare for boarding action." _Alan was instructed to which he complied.

"Gonna' have to land in that hangar bay _Thermopylae_, it's the only place this bird'll fit." Alan informed the trailing I.M.C. ship. However,

"_I've lost the hatch, need cover, need cover!" _Viper exclaimed. By now, both him and the Militia Vanguard were duking it out on top of the _Draconis_, with no clear winner, but for now, the I.M.C. Pilot had the upper hand.

"Roger, Viper, enroute to your position. _Thermopylae_, permission to assist?" Alan asked as he went ahead and tried to speed up past the ship. Before him, was the _Malta_ with crew starting to land aboard it, but after a flurry of missiles from atop the _Draconis_, bad just went to worse. The missiles themselves peppered the _Draconis _setting it ablaze and blowing apart vital structural supports.

The ship was now ablaze, barely keeping steady as it descended.

"_Draconis, this is Enforcer 1-3, we've lost Viper." _One of the Goblins escorting the aforementioned ship informed, _"Be advised, you have a hostile Titan and Pilot pair still active and about to breach your hull."_

"_Thermopylae to all surviving I.M.C. units, friendly forces in orbit are giving us reports of additional incoming Militia signatures. Headed our way, disperse to friendly airspace and prepare to retrieve the package. Pilot, we're withdrawing the boarding operation, come aboard. Over and out."_

"Warning, incoming enemy dropship." Evi reported to her Pilot. Alan figured that the ship was trying to steal yet another I.M.C. vessel, but suddenly he looked over to his left and saw the Crow ram shove into him.

"The hell?" Alan said to himself as he returned the favor, but after a quick back and forth he saw a quick glimpse of a C.A.R. drop in front of him, quickly leaving his view as Alan heard some thumping above him.

"Hostile Pi-ilot on board. Be aware, Pi— A-Alan." She stuttered her alert. It only took one glance up to see a machine slide down and block his view. It seemed to be a familiar sight, yet, foreign to the Pilot. With a large optic giving a glow, the equipment, but what caught Alan off guard was the addition of a jump kit. New Spectre model perhaps?

Alan didn't have time to ponder as he watched a metal fist punch at the glass in front of him. He barely had time to think before the glass finally cracked which prompted immediate action from the Pilot which was to retreat. After getting to the lower level and hearing the glass shatter above him, Alan shoved open the door separating him and his Titan, the latter of which immediately grabbing hold of him and securing him within her compartment. "Di-isembarking transport, hold tight, Pil-lot." Evi warned as she jumped from the widow. After a little maneuvering with her hover thrusters, The Titan and her Pilot made a heavy landing on top of the _Thermopylae_. But from the top of the ship, Alan looked back at the Crow that had tried to crash into him and saw that new type of Spectre's optic burning with a hatred directed at Alan, next to him was another Pilot, the same woman that betrayed him and their team not too long ago. The machine was new though, and though he had a hunch, he doubted such a feat would be possible. Either way, the _Thermopylae _pulled away from the _Malta_ as the _Draconis_ finally crashed into the ground.

\- ( o ) -

It took an hour to secure the crash site of the _Draconis_, but when the they did, the I.M.C. fought ferociously. Sadly, there was nothing that could be done for Evi's questionable structural integrity, instead, the best that the generous crew of the _Thermopylae _could do was to supply Alan with a pair of batteries for her shields and a new quad rocket launcher to make her 'battle-ready'. It was a poor idea, terrible one even, but the Pilot wouldn't turn away their gifts, especially since he needed them now more than ever.

The transport vessel was devoid of its marines and Phantom fighters as they had already been deployed to the testing facility below, but the engineers aboard were kind enough to help fix Evi's arm. Granted, the best they could do was the equivalent of fixing a shoulder that had been dislocated, but like the gifts he was given, Alan would not decline. After they were done, Alan boarded his Titan and walked her onto a new Widow that was waiting for him.

"Blisk says that he's got the Ark," One of the crewmen told Alan, "But now we've got bigger troubles, a whole fleet of Militia carriers just jumped into the system and will be here at any moment."

"Any word of the ships that were defending us up there?" Alan asked, worried about the _Miss Fortune_, or more specifically, Vanessa who was facing such overwhelming odds.

"Last I checked, they dispersed as not to get overwhelmed. Says they can rendezvous later and assist our ground defenses." The other man said to Alan, whom let out a small sigh of relief, "And to think that even our counter intelligence, _which succeeded_, still wasn't enough."

"What happened to them?"

"All dead I'm afraid, every single one…" The man said with a clenched fist, "Anyways, good luck down there, sorry we can't do more about your Titan." He finished as the Widow's doors shut and Alan could feel the transport take off.

Alan wondered if that included Dominic, as that was the last Alan had heard from him. Perhaps it did and that he'd never get the chance to see him again, but even so, now wasn't the time for mourning, there were Militia to kill and a world to defend. Not a moment too soon, the intercoms came to life with, _"All hands, brace for combat! Militia carriers have been spotted!" _That was all Alan heard before finally being deployed.

Once on the ground, Alan and the defenders with him were immediately put to the test as wave upon wave of dropships threw their troops at them despite the air defenses shooting a number of them down. The I.M.C. defenders were stationed on a cliff with two steep drops on either side of them: in front of them, a lethal fall down a mountain, behind them, behind the buildings connected to the testing facility, a fall into the pit dug out for the circular structure which would ultimately lead to their death as well. The grunts were, to say the least, 'a little displeased' with the two options given to them, nevertheless, they held their ground in fending off the Militia that tried to establish a beachhead.

"Christ, they just keep coming, don't they?" One grunt complained as he sat in one of the hastily dug trenches. They were all but surrounded by crashed Crows and even a single Tone that Alan had destroyed with the air of a pair of Archer from the infantry with him.

"Hah, come on you bloody bandits! We've got plenty more!" Another cheered as the last of the recent wave finally fell.

"I've got word from command, package is secured and being deployed as we speak, Militia won't know what hit 'em." Reported another, but in the distance, Alan could see one brave Crow dropship headed straight for them. "Everyone look sharp, we've got one more coming through. This one thinks it can make it."

The Crow evaded shot after shot thrown at it, closing in closer and closer as it made the grunts on the ground slowly start to grow tense with worry, even Alan in his Titan could barely give it a scratch with his missile launcher. Ultimately, the defenders would manage to take out one of the vessels engines but not before it got too close and crashed into Alan and his Titan. There he was again, the new model Spectre with a vendetta against him, but as both machines crashed into the building behind them, Alan could see out of the corner of his vision another individual escape the crashing ship.

"Ej-j-j-jecting Pilot," Evi said, as she now was in free fall into the pit behind them. She grabbed Alan threw him upward, back to solid ground.

"Evi!" Alan shouted, "You better come back here, ya' hear?" He tried to yell back, but by now both the Crow and the Titan were out of sight.

Alan skid and tumbled into the dry, grainy dirt, until he finally rolled to a forceful stop. He could hear the familiar sound of gunfire while a pair of hands grabbed him and pulled him into the trench where a number of grunts were either dead or pinned down. "Nice flying sir," One of the grunts joked while Alan gasped for air while cursing the man under his breath, "We've got a Pilot opposite of us, moving cover to cover using debris."

"Clear shot?" Alan coughed before propping himself up. Though it wasn't too serious, he could feel his body ache just from the fall alone, thankfully his armor had kept him protected else he'd probably have a large gash on his back now.

"Negative, sir. If she gets on top of us, we're done for!"

"Alright then-" Alan groaned from the aches as he got to his feet, "I'll take care of our little traitor, just don't fire until I give the word."

"Traitor?" One of the other grunts echoed and asked, but Alan had already jumped out of the trench in spite of his body still wanting to rest a little more.

Alan drew his pulse blade hanging from his chest and threw it in front of him, impaling the ground at the foot of the wrecked Tone he had destroyed not long ago and behind it was the feminine frame of the Pilot he was searching for. Of course, she knew this too as the sonar alerted the turncoat Pilot, but turning to take an opportunistic shot was her first mistake. The I.M.C. Pilot shot a grapple at the woman's feet, startling her while Alan closed the distance and grabbed her by the arm holding a pistol. With the clear upper hand in the fight, Alan was quick to act, unlike the woman he was facing, he had experience lots of experience in hand to hand combat outside of just simulations that these new generation of Pilots were used to. Either way, Alan elbowed her twice in the head before delivering a strong side kick to her tightened-up stomach. Throwing her weapon to the side, Alan, rather intimidatingly, started toward the Militia Pilot who carefully backed away to buy herself a few precious seconds to think of a plan. So, before Alan could act, she threw a side kick of her own which was swiftly caught by the older Pilot, "Listen, Mary, it was 'Mary', right?" Alan questioned, "I really don't want to have to do this." He began, believing that his foe could see reason, "You're surrounded, your outmatched, and you have no escape. If you surrender now, I'll try and put a good word in for you, maybe say you were abduct-" He tried to offer before the woman hopped up with her other leg to kick Alan in the shoulder, narrowly hitting his head, but the kick brought both of them down. "Why do I even try to be nice…" Alan groaned, rubbing his shoulders.

"Don't know, but it'll be the death of ya." Mary answered, flipping a knife in her hand before bringing it down in an attempt to kill Alan, but the man was easily able to block it with his arms crossed in an 'x'. "Stubborn- Bastard!" She growled.

Behind her, she felt a leg overlap hers and once she realized it, a quick hand to her chest which made her yelp in surprise before being shoved over and to the ground. Alan, being the stronger of the two, used his weight to pin her down while placing a strong forearm on her neck, just enough to keep her from flailing and trying to escape. Meanwhile, as a team of grunts approached. Her eyes darted to each of the men, afraid of death that would approach. With the knife now in the hands of Alan she felt the blade around her thigh, and prepared for a painfully deep cut, but instead it was just the straps to her jump kit that faced punishment. One by one, they came off and eventually off came the expensive piece of gear before she was forced to turn to her stomach. "Sir, we're getting reports of another Militia Pilot punching right through our forces, he's headed for the testing facility." Said one of the grunts.

"Alright then," Alan said, using the remains of her equipment belts to tie her hands together, "Call for an evac from whoever you can to get us the hell off this rock. No use in defending this place if they're on the other side of the facility and already breaking in."

"And her?" Another grunt asked.

"She's going with you," Alan said, "Just keep her a safe distance away and constantly with a gun or two aimed at her." Alan instructed. He certainly wasn't willing to bring her along in case she hindered or tried to kill him some way somehow, but, leaving her here was the easy way out. "Come on, up you go." Alan ordered, pulling the woman to her feet, "I gave you a chance, you know."

"Screw off." She replied, before being shoved along by the butt of an R-201. He almost forgot about his mission, the one to hunt the Militia Pilot. He hadn't got any updates on it recently considering he had little contact with anyone above him, that and plenty of obstacles getting in the way, but if that Pilot was as deadly as mentioned, then perhaps he was here at the facility which meant, he was back on track!

"What about you, sir?"

"I've got outlaws to hunt and a bounty to complete. Go on without me, and tell whoever comes to get you that I may need evac!" Alan told them as he marched inside the buildings he was to defend and turned to a sprint to race across the whole complex. He wasn't sure how long he had, how far the Militia Pilot had gotten, nor if it was even the right person, but, either way he was not about to let the Militia claim another victory if he had the chance to stop it. "This is Alan Stassov to any I.M.C. Personnel in the area, do you copy?" Alan hailed over comms as he entered a manmade bridge fit with glass walls and a steel roof which over looked a steep drop.

He got no response.

It took a little time too much time for his liking, but eventually Alan made further and further into the facility where he then ran into a door spewing a little bit of smoke. Carefully he tapped the door and felt it its scolding heat even through his thick gloves, but he didn't have the time to find a new route so instead he shoved open the door as quick as he could and was immediately met with a heat wave that physically made him recoil from the heat and enough smoke to cloud the whole room. Above, he could see the Militia carriers and remaining I.M.C. fleet composed of frigates and destroyers duke it out in the last battle for the sky, at some point he heard a faint signal through his helmet's comms, _"-our first line of defense, I repeat, they're past our…" _Was all Alan could hear before his comms went dark again. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, Alan pushed through the thick cloud of smoke and bore with the intense fire and heat all around him. He wished he could rush through the room, but that was not an option without being badly burned.

The Pilot carefully pressed forward and took a look around. He wasn't sure how this started, but if he had to guess, it was the result of the one-armed Torso of a Vanguard dangling from cables. Its optic was torn from its socket and lying on the ground, interestingly enough the optic itself was missing completely, but Alan didn't have the time to inspect the remains of the faded green colored Vanguard which was not burning along with the rest of the room. Alan lightly kicked the Titan's hand to check if it still had any power left, but it was nothing more than another wreck now. "Damn Militia." The Pilot muttered, "We never wanted any of this..." He finished as he continued to trudge through an opened door up ahead.

The next room had clearer air, but now there was a number of dead I.M.C. soldiers with clean shots through each of their heads._ Smart Pistol, _Alan thought, knowing full well that no one could be this precise without assistance, the evidence becoming more obvious the further he went.

With the aid of his jump kit jumping up a few ledges and climbing up a few more set of stairs, Alan made it back outside where the circular structure had begun spinning up. He took in the sight of the colossal device before shaking off his awe. Continuing to his right Alan watched a few I.M.C. destroyers and frigates form up and engage the Militia carriers that were slowly winning over the airspace, but just before Alan grabbed onto a zipline, he saw one destroyer launch a devastating salvo that marked the killing blow. The I.M.C. Navy was putting up a good fight, that was all Alan needed to know as he went back inside to encounter more bodies with clean robotically precise shots through them.

Finally, after doing a little wall running to cross a chasm, Alan into the outside again to a pseudo bridge with three huge cables running on either side. On the left it was marked with '03' and '07' on the left and right respectively, and in the center was yet another bridge, a smaller one, running perpendicular to the cables while bodies hung from the railings and littered the ground along with bits of machines that made up a number of attack drones.

His instinct told him to draw his pistol, so, he did. Across the bridge, on the roof next to the tower with a radar dish on top, a battered but still functioning machine stood tall and rolled its neck and arms. It was the same 'Spectre' that had punched through his Widow's window, the same 'Spectre' that crashed a crow right into Evi and sent them both flying off the edge, but now, Alan was starting to believe that this was _no_ mere 'Spectre', but something else entirely…

"_Of course, you live. Good, good, because I want makes sure you die with my hands around your throat." _Said the machine over comms. Alan was sure he had heard some mention of this model before now that he thought about it, but after some time of silence he figured it had long since been shut down due to numerous failures, could this be something similar to the '_Spectre Camo' _he heard about prior to Demeter? _"Are you listening to me?!" _The machine yelled.

"Not particularly." Alan answered. He needed this to be over with quick, assuming this wasn't the target he was after, he needed to stop the Militia Pilot from breaching into the main facility and complete his mission. He looked around to pan his approach, there a few crates, a small 'valley' of sorts in the center of the bridge which explained the smaller bridge in the center, but not much else he could do.

"_You… You… Stassov! I go through all the pain of becoming greater and _still_ you choose to ignore me?" _The machine exclaimed. _"I will show you… Actually, you know what? I'll let the I.M.C.'s own machines let loose on you!"_ The man said as a few large Stalkers emerged from behind him while he drew two red, circular disks and deployed them. This didn't look good for the Pilot, but they were machines, simple machines, it was their greatest strength, and their greatest flaw.

The first team of Stalkers made their move, but they were as predictable as they were clunky. Jumping out from behind a corner, Alan yanked a Mastiff from the clutches of one of the Stalkers and kicked it back toward its other three companions. With one pull of the trigger, the energy from the shotgun hit the Stalker's that was now on the ground, but before the other three could open fire, the back of the fallen machine began to glow and heat up before exploding, taking down the other three along with it, "That's new," Alan whispered to himself, keeping note of how to exploit the new generation of machines for his own use. He would have otherwise used his data knife to hack into them but considering the danger, he opted not to, and that wasn't even considering whether or not they _could_ be hacked into.

Alan moved to a crate for cover as he heard the metallic clanking of more of the machines hunting him. On either side he could hear them, so he made his move. When the Pilot turned the corner, he immediately shoved his weapon's barrel into the head of the Stalker before pulling the trigger to decapitate it, but the second one coming up behind him was a bit quicker. When Alan went to do the same for the second Stalker, the machine swatted the weapon out of his hands, but the man was quick to draw his pistol again and fire into its torso before kicking it back down the light incline leading up to him and seeking cover before it exploded. He needed to take care of that lead robot controlling these things if he wanted to get anywhere, so, devising a plan and executing it, Alan climbed onto the crate he was hiding behind and dashed forward. He waited just enough to use his jump kit which helped him cross the gap below so that he could grab onto the railing and pull himself up, unfortunately one of the Stalkers used its legs to jump up on the opposite side of the bridge and slowly encroach on him while Alan took cover behind a small blue crate reading 'WERNECK' with a small I.M.C. logo on its left. Taking the chance, Alan daringly ran out of his safe cover and fell to a slide where he then grabbed the Stalker's head with his grapple and brought it down before emptying his pistol's magazine into its head. After a quick reload, Alan holstered his pistol and took up the Volt the Spectre was carrying, meanwhile, as he rolled into cover once more, bursts from an L-STAR raced over head as he was then pinned by the machine.

Alan tried formulating a plan, but before he could finish, he saw a small, flashing red robot with four small, rather adorable legs to be honest, headed straight for him. As the small Tick began to dangerously glow and with Alan not knowing how to properly deal with them, Alan jumped over the shielded railing and into the fire of the Stalker. Unfortunately, as the Tick exploded and set a few bits of shrapnel flying, a piece or two hitting Alan, but his armor had saved him from that disaster. The Pilot suffered a burn on his left shoulder from the Stalker still trying to kill him however, Alan wouldn't let the arm rest and instead fought past the pain, gunning down the last Stalker before hitting the ground with a painful thud.

After dealing with the two squads of the new generation robotic infantry, Alan took aim to where the _other_ 'Spectre' stood, but it was missing. In a flash, the robot wearing Pilot gear appeared right in front of Alan, grabbing his gun and breaking it in half before throwing a wild hook that narrowly hit the Pilot. "I'll say, I'm impressed. Alan." The machine complimented as Alan stumbled back in preparation for a fight.

"What and who the hell are you?" The man asked. There was no facial expression, but the Pilot could tell that his enemy was not pleased to hear the question.  
"The pinnacle of robotics, a Simulacrum, the latest and greatest generation of Pilot this Frontier has ever seen!" The machine went on to hype himself, "I am faster," He began as he started to lightly, but painfully, 'tap' Alan, which he retaliated with a punch, which was easily caught, "I am stronger," He said as he quick brought Alan closer and punched him in the chest, sending the man flying back. Alan watched the Simulacrum disappear and reappear right above him, "I am just better, now." He said before winding back for a punch, but Alan rolled away to evade while the machine made a dent in the metal flooring. "As for _who_ I am. You should have _really _remembered, I was top- "

Right, _him_, 'Edwin'. "Look I know I asked, but frankly, it's not worth my time." Alan panted, catching his breath as the machine claiming to be 'Edwin' twitched its head.

"Not. Worth. Your. Time?" Edwin slowly repeated. The man-turned-machine yelled in fury before charging at Alan. With lightning speed, the machine imitating a Pilot threw wild punches, most of which were redirected away from Alan but a number of them hit their mark. "I did _not_ put myself in a stasis tube on this backwater world to simply be cast aside and ignored by _you_ of all people!" Edwin exclaimed.

Alan was punched back to a crate, but when a heavy blow was headed toward his face Alan ducked under, moved away, and with a quick draw of his pistol, fired three shots into the exposed right shoulder of the machine. Not being deterred, the Simulacrum grabbed its data knife and made a decently-sized slice across Alan's abdomen. It wasn't the worst he had, but it was painful and it _was bleeding_. That was one thing that machine had over him. Pressing his advantage, Edwin with his quicker moves made a few cuts across Alan's limbs, the worst offender of which being the outside of his right leg. "You know…" Alan grunted, "If this planet goes, then so does you 'back up'. Even as a machine you won't get to 'reset' and start again.

"All that matters is killing you, I want you dead, and the Militia _really_ want the troublesome _dog_ that you are put down! Got that, little _'Hound'?_" Edwin mocked the label the Militia had plastered onto him. He followed suit by throwing a powerful kick which Alan did his best to block, but upon impact Alan could feel a small crack in his defending arm before yelling out in pain, "Yes, shout some more so the whole Militia fleet can hear my Victory!"

On the ground, listening to Edwin gloat, Alan did a quick test on his arm by twitching each of his fingers. They appeared fine, and he could still move it without too much difficulty, which meant it must have been a stress fracture, not bad, but certainly not good.

"You know what? I think I'm just going to crush you to death with one of these crates." Edwin stated, knowing full well Alan was not in the greatest of positions to get up and retaliate, but up the incline leading toward his destination, the second Tick that had seemingly disappeared emerged and headed straight for him. God, the way it walked was ridiculously amusing, but now wasn't the time! Alan enduring the new, sharp pain in his left arm, shot his grapple at the Tick and with his other hand, grabbed the cable. Alan painfully rolled to his back, his blood starting to pool on the floor around him as he searched for the Simulacrum who was now on top of the bridge trying to pick up the blue crate. "It's a shame none of your friends are alive and here to witness this, 'cause-" Alan interrupted him by slinging the explosive Tick directly at the prideful machine, "What the-" Edwin managed to say before the tick went off in a puff of flames.

Was it over?

"Fine, if that's how its gonna' be."

No.

Alan quickly rushed to his feet just as Edwin menacingly walked closer and closer before disappearing in a flash of light. The Pilot looked around to search for where this monstrous machine could be, but remembered what kind of man the metal body housed within it. The man made several steps back before a flash of light appeared right in front of him again, but this time Alan was at Edwin's back as the latter of the two tried to pop up behind the former for a deadly assassination, but Alan was no fool.

The machine sparked and was badly burned, but was durable enough to remain standing even after the explosive attack. Just as Edwin started to turn in reaction, Alan shoved his old Hammond into the machine's left shoulder and fired three more rounds. He ducked under a flailing 'punch' which was just Edwin using his damaged arm as more or less a glorified club, but Alan ducked under it bringing his knee to the machines stomach. Even though it wouldn't physically hurt Edwin, it did give Alan the room to fire three more times, but this time was in the left hip and leg joint which brought Edwin to a knee. Edwin tried to retaliate by clumsily drawing his revolver, Alan kicked it out of his hand and brought the barrel of his pistol down on the glowing optic of the Simulacrum. However, with his one good leg, Edwin kicked off the ground and tried to return the favor but just missed and twisted over to fall to his stomach. As the machine tried to crawl away, Alan stepped on Edwin's back, firing the last three bullets in his magazine into the other leg's joint. "I kept count; we both know you're empty. Ha-ha! Everyone's watching, can't you hear them laughing and mocking you!" Edwin raved like a madman. "Even in this state I _still win._ You'll die here too Alan, you'll-"

Alan, forcing himself to use both hands, grabbed the Simulacrum by the head, pulling the machine up from the ground, "Just shut the fuck up already!" The I.M.C. Pilot exclaimed in irritation.

"No wait!" Edwin tried to yell to beg, but with his patience worn thin, Alan hadn't stopped to listen, instead, twisted and snapped the humanoid machine's neck and winced in the pain his injured arm gave him, but after letting go, the metallic body collapsed to the ground. Alan didn't stop to even take in the victory, for he had to keep moving forward, he had to stop the Militia. He looked up to the shattered moon, he had to stop a second Demeter…

Trudging forward was easier said than done. He passed the short 'L' shaped hall and walked onto the dirt ground, his blood dripping to the ground. Just as he looked upon the massive railguns defending the base, a thunderous cannon from inside the numerous rings fired. The 'Ark' or whatever it was, was starting to activate. Alan still pushed himself forward, holding his blood soaked, good hand to his wound to try and stem the flow, but there wasn't too much he could do by himself.

Even in his optimism, Alan knew he was at his limit after he hopped down from a ledge and struggled to stay on his feet. It was only when he reached the bridge that his body gave out on him and he tripped to the concrete surface below his feet. _This_ was his limit, he could no longer keep moving forward, even if he could, he was alone, and would be greatly outmatched considering both his current state and the number of fallen I.M.C. Titans that tried to defend the facility.

From the looks of it, he was all there was left, and he didn't have the strength to go on. He watched the rings speed up and in the center of them was a growing blue glow of energy, Alan pondered about its use, what it would do. Seeing its size and the propensity of the I.M.C. to create devastating weapons, it was probably something similar. Odd looking enough to get a small chuckle from the bleeding Pilot, but if it was this important that the Militia are going after it then it must have been as deadly.

As the orb of blue energy grew larger and larger, its edges electrified, a second shot rang out. Alan could do nothing but watch. It was short lived and quick, but if his eyes weren't failing him, he could have sworn that the round fired was instead a Titan. A Vanguard or an Atlas judging by its size, likely the former considering it was the Militia, but either way Alan scoffed before a massive explosion went off in the center, bright enough for the Pilot to shield his eyes. Next was a bewildering and amazing sight of chunks of rock and whole landmasses were thrown up into the sky and suspended in midair as if to deft gravity's pull.

That's when Alan felt and heard the ground quake beneath him. Lazily looking over to his right, he could see the bridge start to crumble and collapse. Freedom at last. He was tired, he wanted to rest, perhaps now was the best time.

So, Alan shut his eyes, and took a deep breath, reluctantly awaiting his fate. Slowly pieces of the bridge started coming apart, but as it came closer and closer to Alan, even as he started to feel the ground he was sitting on crack, the sound of mechanical legs awoke him from his fake slumber and before he knew it, Evi, covered in char and barely holding together, grabbed him and fled the scene. "Pilot on- on board. Retrieva-a-al successful." She reported before running off with him safely within her. Alan wondered where she would run off to, he knew full well there was no escape so why would she still run? Survival instincts, or programing rather, but it wouldn't out run the destruction.

Evi climbed over buildings, a few chunks of rock, dodged incoming debris as if they were enemy projectiles, she learned and mimicked his moves well, he was proud to know that much at least. She didn't pause, she was never hit, she was agile; Alan wanted to ask where she wanted to go, but could not muster the strength to do so. Although she could make her grand escape with him secured, Alan kept slowly dozing off as the loss of blood was starting to catch up to him. The man was about to shut his eyes and find some peace in sleep, but his caretaker wouldn't let him.

"Stay awake, Pilot, we are approaching the rendezvous coordinates." She said clearly and without error for the first time in a long while.

"Heh-Hey. You get fixed?" Alan managed to utter cheerfully, but drowsily to her. He got no reply. He felt her footing slip as the ground gave out below her, but she refused to give up unlike him; instead she used her hover jets to make up for her mistake and catch her footing again. Like a Pilot, she adapted, she learned, she improvised. _'Pilots never quite stop learning.'_ That's what Dominic had told Alan, he wondered if that applied to some Titans too, after all they did adapt and 'take notes' from their users the longer they survived, maybe it was the same.

"Designated coordinates unreachable," Evi said, as the ground around her was next to gone, "Hover mode engaged." She stated, igniting her thrusters just as the last of the ground finally collapsed and gave away. The Brute Titan suspended itself in the air, slowly approaching their destination of nowhere without any second chance appearing. They were afloat in the air, the only thing keeping them from dying was Evi's jets. "Friendly dropship i-i-in-ncoming. Stand by, Pi- User: Alan Stassov."

Alans stayed silent as, from the corner of his eye, a Goblin dropship swooped in on approach to them and as the doors opened up, new life shot into Alan's eyes. _Vanessa came for him…_

"Dis-disembarking, Pilot." Evi stated as her hatch popped open and her hand reached in to grab her precious Pilot.

"Evi?" Alan said in a curious tone, not fully able to comprehend her actions before it was too late.

"Farewell, Pilot." She somberly stated as she offered the injured Pilot over to the _Miss Fortune's _commander who reached out from inside the transport before quickly grabbing the Pilot and pulling him inside.

"Evi!"

"Pi-Pilot, this unit was not designed for-or longevity. Th-ank you, but Pilot- You _m-m-must_ _survive_." She finished saying with mixed tones, as her thrusters gave out one by one. As she fell, the Goblin's door slid and hissed shut while Alan pushed his face to the glass, unable to do anything as his Titan fell into the unstable depths below them.

"Get us the hell out of here!" Vanessa shouted to the ship's pilot.

"Aye, ma'am!"

In seconds, the jump drive spooled up in a flash the transport found itself in orbit while Typhon's surface cracked, shattered, and ultimately let out a continent-sized explosion. Alan took in the painful sight, unable to even utter a word as the Militia claimed yet another world in their conquest of the Frontier. He could only collapse into a seat as he felt the weight of his failure to stop the Militia hit him once more.

Vanessa pulled off Alan's helmet, revealing the sweat, Alan's dark, matted hair, dried blood running down his light skin, and eyes full of disappointment in himself before setting the helmet on the seat next to its owner. The officer didn't look much better, her once pristine naval uniform was torn apart, revealing a rather dirty undershirt with a droplet of blood or two. She was covered it a bit of soot from fire no doubt, she had a small cut across her cheek, and she had a bandage wrapped around one of her arms, but unlike Alan she still had a smile on her face, "And here I thought you were dead…" She whispered, embracing her close friend and refusing to let go until she felt she had enough.

"What happened to you?" Alan asked weakly, finally noticing the woman's messy state and feeling a little worried about what chaos and destruction she had to endure on her side of the battlefield.

"Well, we're a bit roughed up, but now we've got a Militia carrier on our kill count now; gave it a full broadside!" She cheerfully proclaimed before taking the free seat next to Alan.

"Meanwhile, I failed… I had one, _one job_, and I failed…" Alan said to himself, looking back at the destroyed planet. To think he was so close to saving the world, yet to fall flat and so far. It was a feeling that ate at him with too little mercy awarded for his efforts, could he have actually done it? Perhaps, but given his state, given that it was too late now, he'd never know,

"_Miss Fortune_, this is 'Skybird' 1-2, coming aboard with the package, prep a medical team." The ship's pilot up ahead contacted their home vessel.

"You were all that was left down there and in spite of those odds, you did your best, that's all _I, _that's all anyone asks for." Vanessa reassured, getting up to grab the onboard medical kit to help Alan by clumping some bandages and putting additional pressure on his bleeding cuts with her own hands, covering them in his blood in the process.

"Yeah," Alan acknowledged, resting his head against the glass and remembering those words coming from another Pilot that he barely got to know, "He said that to me too…"

* * *

**A.N.: Alas, it has come to an end. Thanks for waiting and thank you for sticking by up to the end! Can't guarantee there will be a third story (Unless we get a certain third entry released), but either way I hope this was an enjoyable read!**

**Until next time,**

**as always, enjoy!**

**~Firetoast312**


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